


You Can Keep the Dime

by kittenmittens



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Discussion of Abortion, F/M, M/M, Male Lactation, Mpreg, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Pregnant Sex, Roy has a secret kid w Hughes, Secret Relationship, You Know The Drill Folks, but very briefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2019-11-26 19:40:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18184871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenmittens/pseuds/kittenmittens
Summary: Hawkeye plucks the kid out of Halman’s grip and dumps him into Roy’s arms, all in one smooth, fluid motion. Roy sputters a little, instinctively adjusting his grip as Luca finally goes quiet.“Wow, Colonel.” Fuery leans over his desk, watching the baby breathlessly. “You two must have a special connection or something!”Kid, Roy thinks,you have no idea.---A self-indulgent alternate universe where it's Roy who Hughes ends up raising a family with, while the main plot of the series stays mostly unchanged.





	1. Chapter 1

“Roy!”

Roy can’t help but wince as Hughes comes barreling over to him, no regard for any of the other soldiers and investigators gathered around the building. He grits his teeth as Hughes grabs him by the shoulders and all but yells into his face. “You’re okay! Thank God.” The big buffoon seems to realize, a little too late, that he’s clinging to Roy like a new recruit trying to scale a climbing net for the first time. He lets go, stepping back sheepishly. “The way they were talking back at headquarters, I thought…” Roy can hear the guy swallow audibly and fights back the urge to roll his eyes. He swears, if Ishval tried to beat the emotion out of Hughes, it failed— _miserably._ “W-Well, I don’t know what I thought, but it was pretty bad!” Clapping a hand down on Roy’s shoulder, Hughes looks him in the eye, as earnest as it gets. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

Groaning, Roy ducks his head so he can pinch at the bridge of his nose. There’s a nasty headache brewing just behind his eyes, he can _feel it_. “That’s one word for it.”

“So… “ Hughes glances around, then bends down slightly, whispering to Roy, “They said this guy was some kind of maniac. Studied all kinds of illegal alchemy. Body reconstruction, alteration—real crazy stuff!”

Roy growls. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Wait so—“ Hughes blusters a little, taking a step back. “He wasn’t… Y-You mean, he actually _was_ doing experiments on people? Did he…” Just as subtle as ever, Hughes sizes him up from head to toe. “Did he _do_ something to you?”

“I _don’t,”_ snaps Roy, “want to talk about it.”

“Are you gonna be alright? Did he hurt you?” Now Hughes is flat-out peeling back Roy’s coat, looking for missing fingers or limbs, some sort of obvious confirmation that Roy’s physical being has been screwed around with. If people weren’t staring before, they certainly are now, which gives Roy plenty of incentive to shake Hughes off again. Besides, he isn’t going to find the issue unless Roy strips naked and…

Ugh. Luckily, that’s never going to happen, and Hawkeye made more than sure to start looking for the best researchers Amestris has to offer so they can try and reverse this whole mess. But, as far as the military’s concerned, he’s perfectly healthy and can continue functioning like nothing’s changed. And, honestly, Roy prefers that to any alternative.

Lifting a hand so he can stop Hughes short in whatever spiel he’s about to go on, Roy insists, “I’ll be fine.” Eventually, this will all be nothing but a distant memory. Roy’s got no clue what that maniac’s plans were. How was this was meant to avenge the guy’s family? His whole monologue about Roy being the worst abomination to ever enter Ishval’s borders is one that he can’t really argue with, but doing _this_ to Roy is just bizarre. Pointless. Humiliating, but arguably harmless.

Then again, Roy guesses there’s no reason the grand scheme of a madman ought to make sense to him. Maybe the man was simply desperate to try this out on any living human he could find, and Roy was just another Amestrian soldier. A lowly murderer, and expendable guinea pig. That he _does_ understand. Really, he deserves this, and a whole lot more.

Doesn’t mean he isn’t pissed about it. But it also doesn’t mean he’s going to postpone his mission for even a second.

“What happened here was a minor hiccup.” Being a powerful state alchemist _and_ war hero, who managed to get himself kidnapped and held captive for two entire days—whether or not said capture happened during a torrential rainstorm, it does _not_ look good on his resume. But Roy can move past it. _All_ of it. Giving Hughes a cold, meaningful look, he grumbles, “Nothing about my plans have changed.”

Hughes looks taken aback, then smirks, giving Roy a quick, excited salute. “Yes, _sir.”_

*

 

“You’re pregnant.” Marcoh punctuates this with a loud snap as he closes his bag.

“What!?” Roy’s face might be glowing by now, it’s gone so red. He just sits there, twitching, on his bed, praying his walls are as sound-proof as he remembers so he can start shouting if he feels the need. And, chances are, he will. “What the hell do you mean?”

“Are young people always this stupid?” Grumbling to himself, Marcoh stretches out his legs and leans back in his chair. “What’s not to understand? That Ishvalan lunatic turned you into a hermaphrodite, and you got stuck like that. We’ve been over this—or did you forget already?” Ohh, Roy remembers. That conversation’s still clear as day in his head. Marcoh told Roy what happened to him shouldn’t have been possible. That it _wasn’t_. Unless… Well, unless that mad scientist had some sort of legendary artifact. A philosopher’s stone. Even if it was imperfect, or incomplete, the changes a person could make to a human body with that kind of power would be virtually unlimited.

“Anyway, you’ll remember I told you, ‘good luck changing back without another one’.” Clearing his throat, Marcoh shifts the weight of his legs around, like he just can’t get comfortable. Yeah, great. Perfect. Because he’s the one who has something to get upset about. “You’ve got a fully functioning set of female reproductive organs and you decided to sleep with another man. What did you think would happen?”

Roy sputters, trying to come up with something to say. It’s a good thing he’s not in battle right now, because freezing for this long would’ve killed him by now.

“Unless you did it to yourself,” continues Marcoh, “but frankly, I think that sounds even worse. Not to mention the potential health problems that kind of child would have…”

“I didn’t do it to my—can you just stop for _one_ second?” Roy’s not hyperventilating yet, but he’s close.

Pregnant. How the _hell_ did he let this happen? Marcoh’s right! Roy knew this was a possibility, he should never have even _dreamt_ of sleeping with another man, never mind allow himself to get drunk to the point where he thought it was even a semi-appealing concept. “H-How long…” How long does he have? How much time to get get his affairs in order? How’s he going to _work through_ this? He’s never felt such a distinct sensation of having all his dreams flushed down the goddamn toilet. Is this… Is this something all women have to deal with when they find out they’re having a child?

“You’re about seven weeks along. Just under two months. That means seven more to go. Maybe fewer if you don’t take care of yourself.” That last bit was clearly a borderline threat, but Roy’s too busy reeling to care. Marcoh notices his lack of a response and tentatively adds, “Unless you decide not to keep it.”

Roy jolts. Right. That’s…

That’s always an option.

It seems obvious. An easy out for a stupid decision that Roy wasn’t fully, mentally there for. Lord knows he’d never blame a woman for going this route. He _knew_ plenty of women who had been in this exact situation—he’d understood more about it than any other teenage boy on the planet. And this way, he’d never have to worry about any of his plans going awry; at least, not _this_ drastically.

He had never even thought of having a child. Never thought about children enough to want one.

But Maes…

“I…” Roy shakes his head stubbornly, feeling his jaw tense up with frustration that he wishes he could direct at anybody but himself. This is stupid. Not just stupid. Clinically _insane_. He can’t believe he’s even considering it as a split-second joke, let alone as a real option. When he pictures what might happen to him in the next few months, if he does nothing, if he carries on… his skin starts to crawl! But then Hughes’ stupid, ridiculous, grinning face pops into his head, and he realizes just how screwed he truly is.

“I need to think about it.”

 

*

 

“You’re really… ?” Hughes’ mouth is gaping, and he’s staring at Roy like he just pulled a philosopher’s stone out of his ass. Yeah, _if only._

Heaving a massive sigh, Roy nods stiffly. “Yep.”

“Roy!” Roy jumps, then yelps in horror when Hughes throws his arms around him, lifting him clean off his chair and spinning in a clumsy circle. “That’s incredible!”

“In _what_ way, exactly?” Thank God it’s just the two of them in his office.

“It’s just—it is!” Hughes sets him down, and Roy wobbles, then smacks the other man’s hand away as Hughes tries to steady him. “First you tell me you’re some kind of alchemic miracle, and now you’re actually going to have a kid? My—I mean, _our_ kid! You’re going to have a kid. We made a kid, together.”

It’s hardly a kid—more like a clump of cells sitting in the pit of Roy’s abdomen—but he bites his tongue for the moment. “Yeah. Guess so.”

Hughes just starts staring at him again, like Roy’s some centuries-old painting in an art museum, and Hughes is an overeager tourist. “You’re incredible, Roy. You know that?” A hint of pink washes over Hughes’ cheeks, and he grabs Roy’s hand suddenly, giving them a small squeeze. “This is a pretty huge deal. I know…” Roy watches Hughes’ Adam’s apple bob as he gulps anxiously. “I know this isn’t going to mesh well with your… _work schedule_.” His plans to overthrow the entire country, in other words. “So… don’t feel obligated to…” He heaves a massive sigh. “Don’t feel like you have to go through with this because of me. I’ll be okay with whatever you decide to do.”

“Thanks, but…” Roy shrugs callously. “I already made my choice, _long_ before I called you in here.” And then, Roy tells the man the biggest lie he’s told him in years. “You had virtually nothing to do with it.”

  

*

 

Roy knows what he said—how he promised nothing was going to get in the way of what he’s had planned for years. He told himself he’d die before he let anything, even something as insane as _this_ , slow him down.

Well, screw it. He’s changed his mind about all of that. This isn’t just a temporary setback, or a minor ailment—this is torture! He knows what he said, and for the most part, he’s done a damn good job of sticking to his word, but today? Today he just can’t do it. He’s been throwing up every morning, even though he’s supposed to be well past that stage by now, and his stomach juts out just enough to keep him from getting any sleep because all his usual positions feel _wrong_ now. It’s like that whole area’s a tender, open wound—one that’s healed up just enough for Roy to forget about until he moves in the wrong way and makes his entire midsection sting. And if that weren’t bad enough, if feeling like he has the plague wasn’t enough of a pain in the ass on its own, his body’s become… Well, his hips seem more than a little _padded_ these days, and his _chest…_

Damn it. Roy’s always figured he was pretty good at stomaching the macabre, but he can’t even bear to think about _that._

“Colonel?” Hughes has the wherewithal to knock on the door when he comes over, at least, acting like he doesn’t all but live in Roy’s apartment these days. But for once, Roy doesn’t have the energy to deal with Hughes, so he just rolls over with a groan.

Well, apparently that’s invitation enough, because Roy hears the lock click. Then, footsteps trot cheerfully down the hall and into his bedroom. “Hey! Roy! How’re you holding up?”

He acts like it’s a damn cold or something, not like Roy’s insides have been rewritten and he’s dealing with the worst kind of fallout. “Really? You’re really asking me that?” Roy pushes himself up a bit, making sure to keep everything below the collarbone covered by his sheets. He doesn’t care that Hughes has seen him naked, but now that his body’s effectively going through a second puberty, well… He’d rather keep that experience to himself and suffer in silence. “And cut it out with that Colonel crap. You’ve already had your way with me. I think we’re _well_ past the formalities.”

“So, not too great, huh?” Damn, he’s dense. Roy almost feels sorry for him. _Almost_. “I brought over some brioche from that bakery you…” He rustles through the bag he carried in as he takes a seat, then gets a look at Roy’s face and quickly shoves the pastry back inside. “… like. Never mind.”

Shit—even being in the same room as that stuff is too much for Roy. He lurches forward, hand clamped over his mouth like he might hurl, and then it hits him that his whole upper half’s on display for Hughes and he just… cringes, painfully slow. Groaning again, he turns away, not particularly wanting to see the disgusted look that’s probably on Hughes’ face right now. (Granted, disgusted is most likely too harsh of a word—Hughes is incapable of being disgusted by most people.) Of course, he’s jarred out of his delusions when one side of the bed dips down and Hughes starts trying to climb under the covers with him. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to keep you company, then!”

“WHAT?” Roy’s an idiot! What kind of tactician is he? Underestimating an enemy’s intelligence is one thing, but it can go the other way—he’s _severely_ underestimated Hughes’ stupidity. “No! No, no—STOP IT! _ABORT MISSION!”_ Growling, he kicks at Hughes stupidly, making a sound like a cat that’s been run over when Hughes just keeps scooting closer to him. Wedging himself in with his back against the wall, he tries to use all the leverage he’s got to give one final shove with both feet. “GET. _OUT.”_

 _“_ I know you wanna be alone, but I just—I’m sorry, okay?” Maes starts chuckling, the absolute _lunatic_ , wrapping an arm casually around Roy’s waist so he can press himself right up against the smaller man’s back. “I can’t stand seeing you like this. I just have to do something!”

“Alright, now you’ve got a death wish.” Roy tries to work around the hold Maes has on him, squashing his palm flat against the guy’s face and shoving some more. But Roy’s nothing if not a realist, and it’s becoming clear that he’s not going to win this battle. So, next best option—he goes completely boneless, lying there like a dead jellyfish in Maes’ arms, desperately hoping he’ll take the goddamn hint and give Roy some space.

“Ha! I guess I do.” A shudder runs through Roy’s entire body as Maes takes one big hand and gingerly slips it under the hem of Roy’s undershirt, rubbing his palm up and down the slightly rounded surface of his belly.

“Ugh. Stop _touching_ it.” Never mind how he’s completely disregarding Roy’s personal space (he could have a pretty decent case by now if he wanted to take Maes to court), he can’t picture anything worse than Maes touching him there. Beyond looking downright bizarre, it feels way too sensitive, itches on and off, and he already has stretch marks. Forgive him if he doesn’t see the appeal. And, through it all, he keeps wondering how much of this will go away when he’s finished being a walking petri dish. As if this whole ordeal wasn't freaky enough, he’s starting to think he won’t _ever_ be able to forget it. 

Oh, uh—because of the kid, too, he guesses, not just his body being utterly distorted. Great! Now he feels like a jackass for having those kinds of priorities, but screw it! He’s a man—and up until recently, he was a perfectly normal man. He never dreamt he’d be going through something like this. He’s allowed to be pissed off!

Maes stops rubbing his stomach, at least, but he keeps his hand there, nuzzling his chin into the crook of Roy’s shoulder and giving off such a stupidly sappy air, Roy almost starts to choke. “It really is incredible, y’know? I still can’t believe it.”

“You’re telling me.” He never pictured things turning out like this. Okay, _obviously_ , but even having a relationship with Hughes took him completely by surprise. Not that there’s anything wrong with Hughes—he’s such a good person, it’s nauseating—but being with another man, especially a fellow dog of the military, just… feels strange. Not impossible, but not too likely for Roy. And yet, here they are.

“I’m gonna help you however I can.” Maes squeezes him a little tighter and Roy winces without really understanding why. “You know that, don’t you?”

“I don’t need _help_ , alright?” Damn it! All Maes is doing is making Roy more uncomfortable, and then he feels like a complete bastard for not appreciating the big idiot. “I’m just… still coming to terms with all this.” If somebody could just… drop a kid off on his doorstep, and the rest of this, with them being… _together_ stayed the same, that would be fine! _Perfect_ , even. Hell, if it were Maes dealing with this problem instead of Roy (and that’s a real entertaining mental image, if not disturbing), Roy knows he’d still feel better about it than he does right now.

“Then...” There’s a pause before Maes plants a few kisses up the side of Roy’s neck, and Roy’s so beside himself, he might be having an aneurysm. “Then I’m gonna make it _easier.”_

“Y-Y’know what would…” Shit, it’s hard to breathe. Roy was never this sensitive before, but now it’s like every touch he feels gets magnified by a hundred. Suddenly, he’s a blushing maiden from one of those trashy romance novels, and yes, Roy’s _extremely_ disgusted by the revelation. “What would… _a-actually_ … hhhhelp… would be if you stopped… talking about it all the time.”

“I’ll do my best.” Maes buries his face in Roy’s shoulder, bristly chin pricking at his back. Maybe it’s because he’s so persistent, or because Roy’s getting tired, but it bothers him a little less this time when one of Maes’ hands starts to paw at his belly again. The other wanders up to gingerly cup Roy’s chest, fingers sinking in to the soft weight there. And, yes, no matter how much it starts to resemble something other than a ‘chest’ (some other word that may or may not begin with “b”), Roy’s never going to call that part of his body anything new.

Even as his skin sprouts goosebumps and arousal starts building in the pit of his stomach, Roy almost wants to put an end to all this, but the honest side of him knows it’s more because of his pride than him actually _wanting_ this to stop. Although it does bug him when his voice wavers just slightly as Maes’ fingers start to roll against the flesh there; he can’t ignore how tender it’s gotten as of late. “O-Oh, I get it. _Now_ you’re done asking permission.”

“Oh, no. This is called ‘taking initiative.’” Planting a kiss just behind Roy’s ear, Maes runs a thumb over Roy’s nipple, and Roy shivers dramatically. Fuck. He’d off himself before admitting this to _anyone_ —even thinking it makes him kind of nauseated—but he’s always been sensitive there, even before he got himself into this pregnancy fiasco. “Big difference.”

“ _Mm.”_ Roy tries to stifle a gulp, and does a piss-poor job of it. The muscles in his shoulders go all stiff and he has to breathe deeply and pull himself down when the movement of Maes’ thumb sends an electric jolt straight to his groin. “All r… _All right._ I changed… my mind.” Licking his lips, Roy pulls away from Maes just enough to look him in the eye. “You can do me one more favor.”

It’s probably just the odd lighting, but he swears Maes’ eyes look darker than usual. “Yeah?” Maes’ face is flushed, and his forehead’s already gotten a slight, sweaty sheen to it. He looks like the same dopey moron he’s always been, but visibly turned on. That sight really ought to be laughable, and not something that gets to Roy, but it’s… It’s certainly having _some_ effect.

Roy moves again, squirming around until he’s facing Hughes, one hand on his shoulder as he gingerly presses his forehead against the other man’s collarbone. “Hurry up.”

It’s irritating, the fact that he can see, perfectly, in his mind’s eye, that cheesy smile lighting up Maes’ face when he enthusiastically chirps, “You got it.”Maes lies him on his back, a hand tracing down his side before finding the hem of Roy’s pajamas and helping them off. Roy jerks around sluggishly, finally kicking the garment aside and spreading his legs with an almost clinical air. He’s discovered more than a few new urges since having his reproductive anatomy completely turned on its head, and some of them have proven to be a hell of a lot stronger than his need for dignity. Thankfully, though, these urges only appear in private, after Maes has been toying with him for a while.

Maes traces his finger along Roy’s hip, then the inside of his thigh, stroking his length lightly, teasingly, before he delicately runs a knuckle over Roy’s new entrance. Roy’s breath hitches, but he stays as calm as he can, leaning easily into another kiss as Maes bends over him, using his thighs to prop up Roy’s legs as he scoots closer. Maes slips a finger inside, testing, and— _shit._ Roy guesses he was more warmed up than he figured, because he takes it easily. Throwing an arm around Maes’ broad shoulders, Roy pulls him closer, trying to prompt him to get on with the main event.

Maes pulls away to chuckle, and Roy just about socks him. But lucky for the other man, when he pushes into Roy properly, it’s enough to wipe that idea from his mind. Fingers digging into Roy’s rear, Maes gives one careful, delicate roll of his hips, and Roy nearly tears up. Truth be told, these new parts more or less _terrify_ him. He’s gotten so overly sensitive down there, he feels like he’s losing his mind when they’re in the throes of it like this. He hates being seen when he’s so out of sorts, and nothing’s going to change that, but apparently he doesn’t hate it enough to keep it from happening now. Besides, this isn’t the lowest Roy’s been—and not the worst he’s been seen doing. Maes was there for that, and he still found some reason to stick by Roy. So of course Maes being the one to see Roy completely fucked out and pathetic…

Well, he’s the only person Roy can stomach doing it.

Maes starts bucking leisurely, holding Roy’s thighs up as he pumps back and forth, and Roy arcs his spine. A flood of short, rapid gasps pour from his lips, synced up with every one of Maes’ movements. There’s a tense moment, electric with some feeling Roy can’t put his finger on, when their eyes meet, and Roy’s hit with a prickle of discomfort. He’s sure they can move past it; Maes didn’t seem to notice, and Roy’s more than ready to forget it. And then the moron has to speak. Has to look down at Roy with his half-lidded eyes and flushed cheeks as he whispers, “You’re… _beautiful.”_

Freezing from head to toe—and Roy has to bite down on the inside of his cheek just to come down enough to do _that_ —he glares furiously at Maes. It takes a crazy amount of effort to get his wits together enough to make that happen, but he’s not fucking around here. “I-If you… _ehh_ …ver… want to do thisss… k-kind of thing with me… again… you can… _not_ … c-call me… crrr… _crap_ like that. _Got it?_ ” Beautiful? Is he kidding!? If Maes weren’t inside him already, that would kill the mood faster than Madame C running into the room and stripping naked.

Maes, though… Damn it. The guy always lacked any sense of self-preservation, and when he doubles over laughing, pressing his temple against Roy’s neck, Roy isn’t sure if he wants to punch him or just roll his eyes. Lucky for Maes, he settles on the latter. “O-Okay! Okay. Sorry. Took it too far.” He gives a little wiggle, sending a few needful jolts through Roy’s body as he kisses the curve of his jaw. “How about cute? Can I say that?”

Roy’s more than ready to argue (mentally, at least) but he’s so close to finishing, he doesn’t have it in him to keep this going. So, instead of actually replying, he jerks his hips and loosely squeezes his legs around Maes’ waist. Maes, thank God, takes the freaking hint, grabbing onto Roy’s hips with both hands as he starts picking up the pace. Maybe Roy’s more touch-starved than he realized, or maybe Maes is more talented than Roy would care to admit, but either way, it doesn’t take long before he’s overwhelmed. With Maes pressing up against that perfect, aching spot (the one he didn’t even _have_ a few months ago, but is very, _very_ grateful for at this exact moment) over and over, it’s impossible not to let his head loll back, or his whole body shudder.

He’s totally lost in the sensation, pulled deep underwater by an undertow of pleasure. Roy can’t control much of anything, and as much as he’d like to fight it and draw this out for as long as possible, he’s far too sensitive right now. Before he knows it, he’s climaxing, hunching forward and shivering violently, grabbing harshly at Maes’ side as he pants through the aftershocks. Maes keeps going for a few more strokes, and Roy clenches his jaw, suffering through the discomfort until Maes finishes, too. After holding their awkward pose for another few seconds, the other man shifts to the side and collapses next to Roy. Looking for a split second is enough; Roy can’t stand that dopey grin, with Maes rubbing it in how he _won_ , so he closes his eyes and focuses on trying to catch his breath in as little time as possible.   

Still struggling to breathe after another ten seconds, Maes pants, “Feel any better?”

Roy knows exactly how he feels right now, but he’s more worried about how he’s going to feel later. And as for giving Maes a straight answer, well… Roy’s pride just isn’t going to let him. “… Give me a minute.”

He does, however, manage to fight his instincts off long enough to reach up and lightly grab at Maes’ sleeve, if only for a moment.

 


	2. Chapter 2

After a certain point, in between hating his own decision-making skills and regretting almost everything leading to this moment, Hawkeye tells him it’s time to disappear.

Roy knew it was coming—they’d discussed it ages ago. Roy would work until his condition was likely to become suspect, and not a moment later. There was a fine line between looking like he was just ‘putting on weight’ versus a physique that looked genuinely suspicious. Hell, even if letting yourself go in his line of work wasn’t exactly a death sentence, it certainly didn’t bode well for his goals. No one wants to take orders from a fat, lazy bastard, let alone promote one.

He lasted until sometime after the fifth month. That’s when his uniform started bowing outward, and not even going up a size could disguise the tightness around his chest and middle. So, even though he hated having to use his connections over something so humiliating, but he ended up pulling a few strings—more than a few, unfortunately—and got himself a lengthy leave using only the vaguest excuse possible. As far as the military is concerned, he’s going on a lengthy expedition to try and find treatment for the condition brought on by the ‘kidnapping and experimentation’ incident—the accounts of which are also very vague and more than a little… _incorrect_ , thanks to a whole separate slew string-pulling.

There’s a yawning pit in his stomach that opens up every time he thinks about the coming months away from his job, and his subordinates. How hard, or even impossible, it will be for him to make up for that lost time.

On top of that grim realization, it occurs to Roy that he’s becoming a voluntary shut-in. Waiting out the last trimester of this peculiar layer of hell with Hughes, Dr. Knox, and occasionally Hawkeye dropping by as his only companions.

When he leaves his office on that final day to start his three-month-long, self-imposed imprisonment, he finds a conspicuous pile of folders resting on his coffee table. He shuffles over to it and, after taking a moment to lament over how difficult this type of movement is becoming, bends to pick up the card that’s been placed on top. Hawkeye’s clinical, flawless handwriting is instantly recognizable.

_Colonel,_

_I know how much you hate downtime, so I thought I might give you a little extra company during your leave._

_—RH_

‘Company.’ As in a metric ton of forms and reports to wade through. He’s not sure if this is her idea of a joke, or if she’s being completely sincere. Knowing Hawkeye, it could be either, and somehow, that’s the funniest thing Roy’s experienced in days.

Shoulders bunching up, Roy laughs to himself, deciding he doesn’t give a shit that he’s all alone in an empty room.

 

*

 

He fought against it like any logical person would. Arguments like ‘It’s too suspicious’, ‘I can take care of myself perfectly well’, and ‘If I have to spend more time around you than I already do, I’ll need a one-way ticket to the nearest asylum’ all fell on deaf ears. Hughes has taken more and more vacation leave as Roy’s gotten closer to the proverbial finish line, and Roy isn’t happy about it. He’s certain it’ll bite them both in the ass somehow, but Hughes sure does his best to keep Roy’s focus off that legitimate concern. He’s been doting on Roy constantly, bringing him food, talking to Roy’s middle (well, technically, the completely indifferent fetus), trying to rub his feet—what a bastard. He ought to know all that attention does nothing but make Roy’s skin crawl.

Now, Roy’s watching Hughes pace back and forth in the living room of his apartment, sitting on a lumpy old armchair he’s had since he left Chris’s inn. There’s a pillow wedged against the small of his back in order to keep the ache in his spine at bay, and his feet are up on the coffee table, ankles screaming at him. That’s not the worst part, though. The worst part is… Well, it’s a tie between his laughable dome of a belly, which seems to add a solid foot to his waistline, and sits so low on his hips that he actually waddles now, and his… chest. He’d prefer not to dwell on that aspect, even in the privacy of his own mind. It’s swollen, tender, _leaking_ , and… sizeable enough to actually make his stomach look proportionate. He’s going to leave it at that.

All this puts him in a sour mood, watching as Hughes babbles on and on about baby names, heedless of whether or not Roy’s actually listening to him. (When Roy told the big idiot he couldn’t care less what they called the kid, Hughes let out an offended gasp and carried on with his list like Roy hadn’t said anything.) Finally, Hughes looks over at him, expression unmistakably pitying, and Roy thinks he’d give just about anything to be able to jump to his feet and sock Hughes right in his bristly jaw. “Hey, Roy. You feeling all right?”

Grunting, Roy makes a point of shifting his ridiculous weight around, like he actually has any hope of getting comfortable. “What the hell do you think?”

“Still hung up over last night?” Hughes is either choosing to ignore the obvious ‘I feel like shit because I’m an extremely pregnant oxymoron’ answer, or he knows that discussing it won’t do them any good, so he’s skipping the conversation entirely.

Hm. Last night. Roy’s been used to nightmares for years now, but they’re much more of a pain in the ass when your lead-heavy gut doesn’t let you toss and turn like you should be able to. And they’re made even more obnoxious when Hughes insists on making a damn ordeal over them. Roy knows for a fact Hughes has had plenty himself, and honestly, Roy’s never been certain if it’s easier being with someone who understands shell shock, or if knowing exactly what Hughes has been through makes things _more_ difficult. “I’m fine, Hughes.” He feels like crap, but so what? Nightmares have nothing to do with it; now that he’s in a family way, that’s just his new ‘normal.’

Hughes frowns, then drops his stupid list on the desk, padding over to Roy and crouching by his chair. He puts his palm gently against Roy’s stomach, staring up at him with an expression that’s so earnest and kind, Roy wants to punch him even more than he did a minute ago. “How about a distraction?”

Shrugging, Roy flexes his toes thoughtfully. As long as he doesn’t have to stand up. “What were you thinking?”

“You could try and come up with some names, or—“ Catching the look on Roy’s face, Hughes quickly amends. “ _Or,_ you could help me with my paperwork, _regale_ me with some of our old war-time stories—“ Alright. Clearly, he doesn’t have any legitimate ideas, but Roy appreciates the effort. “—try and teach me a little bit of alchemy…”

“Oh.” A smirk flits onto his face as Roy starts to give it a bit of thought. “I like that one.”

“Really?” Seems like Hughes didn’t expect him to take the bait, but to his credit, he’s a good sport about it. “I mean… sure! Just, uhh…” He winks. “Don’t give me any special treatment, okay? I know I’m already your favorite student.”

Roy snorts. “Settle down, Lieutenant.”

Turns out, Hughes isn’t exactly a star pupil. He doesn’t retain alchemic formulas the way he does data from investigations, and Roy has to bite back a chuckle each time the other man has a frustrated outburst. It takes all day to get Hughes to comprehend a simple equation, and longer after that to cover deconstruction and reconstruction. It’s nearly midnight when he’s garnered enough of an understanding to mold a little chunk of rock into a comically lumpy, indistinct sculpture.

Still, when he beams and holds out his hands, proudly cupping the little figure he insists is supposed to be Roy… Roy remembers how the hell he got knocked up in the first place.

 

*

 

 Roy really, _really_ wishes he could pretend he didn't know what this was, or tell himself that it was just another ache or pain that came standard with this whole ordeal. Except, he knows way too much about this—more than most other men his age who haven't gotten some poor girl into the same position he’s in now. When he was ten or eleven, one of the girls at the Inn got pregnant, and decided to keep the baby.... It was kind of a big deal in their line of work, so of course Roy was going to hear a lot about it. Anyway, he remembers what it was like when she actually had the kid. More importantly, he’ll probably never gonna  _forget_ that night she woke the whole Inn up with her screaming , and something in his gut is insisting he’s reached that point, too. Hughes keeps trying to push food on him, but judging by the way it feels, Roy’s stomach has either inverted itself, or ceased to exist. Point is: “I’m not hungry.”

“Come on!” Hughes flat-out whines, setting the plate on the nightstand as he sits by the side of the bed. “At least try to choke down a sandwich or something.”

Clenching his jaw, Roy rubs at the side of his belly, turning away from Hughes so the other man won’t see the pained face he’s making. “Later.” It’s not like Roy’s completely averse to admitting he might be in (ugh, God help him) _labor_ , but he isn't looking forward to getting started, so to speak. Bad enough they can't do this in a hospital, and even though Roy's beginning to hurt too badly to overthink things, he's still a little... 

Fuck it, he's  _scared_. Having a baby at home, without a whole team of medical professionals there to step in if something goes wrong, is scary _._  

“Jeeze, Roy.” Roy flinches and jerks away when Hughes moves to push his bangs aside. “You don’t look so good.”

“Hughes, promise me something.” Sighing, Roy lifts a hand so he can drag his fingers through his hair. Doesn't do much to calm him down, like it normally would, but it does  _something_ , at least. Distracts him for half a second, maybe. “When this... When  _it_  hits the fan, promise you won't completely lose your mind.” Roy's  _not_  gonna be the only level-headed one here, okay? He refuses.

“W-Wait, Roy. Are you…” Having to psyche himself up just to look at Hughes’ dumb face isn’t something Roy enjoys normally, but right now, it’s practically unbearable.  “Are you saying…” Lowering his voice, like he’s scared talking about it too loud is going to make Roy’s condition deteriorate, he asks, “Is this… it? For real?” It’s obnoxious as hell, the fact that he had to throw that ‘for real’ in. Neither one of them is happy about the call Hughes made last week at two in the morning, asking Knox about what turned out to be false labor pains.

Damn it. And here, Roy thought he'd been kind of subtle. Oh well—screw it. Smirking weakly, he shifts against the headboard, ignoring the way his stomach weighs down against his thighs and makes his hips ache. “Pretty sure.” He isn't gonna mention anything like, ‘I drenched my last good pair of pants not too long ago’ out loud. Hughes is just gonna have to trust him. 

“Okay! Okay. That’s fine! Nothing to worry about, right?” It’s a strange dichotomy, hearing Hughes say that with such an intense wobble in his voice. “People—People do this all the time! Every day, all over the world. So—So there’s no reason to worry.”

“Exactly.” So much for Hughes being the calm one. Yeah. Roy knows it would’ve been nice, not having to reassure the guy every few minutes while he’s in a large amount of pain, but apparently this is the kind of guy Roy decided to reproduce with. It’s not even that Roy needs any comforting, or that he has a problem with talking Hughes down, but… he’s got no idea what to say in these situations, and it’s getting harder and harder to think clearly through. Then again, in some _annoying_ way, it’s almost… touching, watching as Maes loses his mind over this. “Relax.” Forcing a shaky smile, he insists, “This is nothing compared to Ishval, right?”

Maes freezes, then grins back weakly. Shit—that look is heartbreaking. “Y-Yeah! You’re right.  We can handle it.”

“Damn straight.” Giving Maes a curt nod, Roy folds his arms over his stomach. He hates sitting here like some old, sickly woman who can’t make it out of bed. Thank God Knox’s threat of bedrest never came to pass, or Roy might have actually lost his mind. Still, he knows how he looks is going to be the least of his worries before too long. He ended up studying prenatal things the same way he deals with most of his paperwork –the information that didn't seem vital just fell through the cracks—but part of it stuck, at least. “If I’m right about this, it’s going to take a while, so you might as well save your panicking for the home stretch.”

“We’re off the clock, Colonel. I don’t have to follow those orders.” Maes starts piling a bunch of extra pillows up behind Roy, then spreads a cushy blanket over his lap. Hm. Not really helping to dispel Roy’s ‘old woman’ comparison. “But I’ll try.”

“You're a real smartmouth, Hughes.” That's the last thing Roy remembers saying for a while.

After a certain point, even resting stops being remotely... well, restful, and all he's doing is trying to ride out the pain. He knew it wasn't going to be fun, with no drugs, and no distractions, but it's somehow even worse than he imagined. By the time the rest of the day has crawled by, Roy’s just curled into a ball on his side, hand cupping the underside of his stomach as the muscles underneath it spasm cruelly.

After leaving for a minute or so to answer the door, Maes hurries back into the room with Knox on his tail. Crouching by the bed, he places his hand over Roy’s, and Roy’s almost embarrassed, showing this kind of intimacy in front of a hardass like Knox. “How’s it looking?”

“Well...” Roy swallows, pulling his hand away so he can wipe at his brow. He has to get his thoughts together, taking a minute to get enough air into his lungs to actually reply. “C-Couldn't tell you that... but it... doesn't fuh… _feel_  too good.” What else is he supposed to say? It hurts like a bitch, but the kid's not out yet. As far as Roy can tell, it's just going to be a whole lot of the first until the second happens.

“Do you want anything? Water, or—maybe I can—“ As soon as Roy starts hiking himself up so he can sit properly, Maes cups at his massive stomach with both hands. Roy grumbles and shoves him away.

“Stop smothering him,” snaps Knox. He pulls up a chair near the foot of the bed and starts rummaging through his bag, pausing to shoot Maes a watered-down glare. “You give me a good enough reason, and I won’t hesitate to throw you out.”

“He’s all right.” Roy says that as firmly as he can manage, watching as Knox sets a clean pan of water down by his feet before taking a moment to light a cigarette. He tries to give Maes a reassuring look, but it might come off as more miserable than anything. Well, not much he can do about that.

Maes eases halfway onto the bed with him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and tapping one foot against the floor foot manically. Roy can see his nose wrinkle as some of Knox’s fumes waft towards them. “Do you have to smoke in here?”

“I smoked during the war, digging bullets out of people.” Knox takes a deep, smooth drag, letting the ash fall to the floor. “I’ll smoke here.” Pulling a pair of gloves out of his bag, he motions for Roy to spread his legs with such a casual air, he might as well be checking Roy’s pulse instead of delivering a baby.

“’S _fine_ , damn it!” Roy grits his teeth as another contraction starts building, digging both sets of fingers into the blankets as he throws them aside and spreads his legs for Knox to look. Maybe his priorities are skewed, but the thinks they've got bigger problems than the air in here smelling funny. 

He hears Maes make a soft noise in the back of his throat, like he’s about to argue, but he stifles himself, instead taking his fist and gingerly rubbing his knuckles up and down Roy’s spine. Roy’s still got enough pride to be a little annoyed by the gesture, but in some deep pit at the back of his mind, he can’t help but appreciate it.

“Looks fine.” Leave it to Knox to not even comment on how Roy’s defying the laws of nature. He doesn’t even seem to care to that it’s strange at all, but Roy sure as hell isn’t going to complain about that. “You’re as close as you’re going to get. Start bearing down with the next contraction.”

“Oh, thank God,” Roy mumbles under his breath, leaning forward as much as his damn gut will let him and waiting for the next spasm of pain to build. He ends up pawing at Maes a little, letting out a frustrated noise when he doesn't get the hint. “ _Maes_ , just...” He squints down to his side and grabs at Maes hand, squeezing it gently as he bears down. Something about trying not to crush Maes' bones while still giving the rest of this his all... Damn it, Roy doesn't know. It just helps, somehow.

“Right.” Maes finally grips his hand back, rubbing his thumb gingerly over Roy’s knuckles.

“Good, good.” Knox taps on his knee, then snaps to get his attention when Roy keeps straining. “Don’t overdo it. Give it a minute, or you’ll pass out.” Wonderful—because that isn’t disturbing in the slightest.

Another contraction starts to build, and Roy fights not to betray just how much the pain gets to him. It’s humiliating, how weak he feels. For God's sake, he's been through so much worse and never once complained. Never did anything but suck it up and take that meaningless title they foisted on him after the war was over, and he promised himself he'd never see Ishval again. That was harder— he  _knows_  it was. Yet, here he is, finally broken down and defeated, soaked in sweat and completely overpowered by the whims of his own body. Why wouldn’t he feel pathetic?

There’s another stab of embarrassment when Maes seems to respond to this, pulling Roy into a careful hug and making a series of soft, reassuring noises. Maes keeps him propped up and hunching forward, legs still spread with his feet against the foot of the bed. Meanwhile, Roy’s dizzy, and sick to his stomach, and he feels so far away from his body, aside from how intensely he’s feeling the agony, that he can’t even find it in him to shove Maes off him. He watches dumbly as Knox cups his hands between Roy’s legs, and he only registers what this might mean seconds before Knox flat out says it.

“One more push, Mustang. Nearly there.”

Roy cranes his head back against Maes’ shoulder, staring at the ceiling while he catches his breath, the sweat from his forehead bleeding into his vision and making everything blurry. He happens to turn his head, to squint up at Maes, and...  _Damn it_. He looks so scared, so concerned, like he's feeling everything that Roy's feeling, magnified tenfold. Roy has to admit, that man's got a lot of nerve, making Roy feel bad for  _him_  in all this. Once he catches his breath—or, gets as close as he can get to that before the next contraction starts swelling inside him—he lurches forward suddenly, bearing down like he's getting his second wind. He squeezes Maes’ hand a hell of a lot tighter this time: he thinks they could both use the distraction.

There’s no way of sugarcoating it: Roy feels the baby pressing right up against the inside of his crotch, and then slipping through. Knox says something about shoulders, and just when Roy thinks all the muscles he’s been clenching up might snap in two like overtaxed elastic, Knox flat-out pulls the baby free. Roy makes a truly awful sound, fighting like crazy to catch his breath. Groaning, he starts to slouch forward, then shudders in disgust when more... God, he doesn't even want to know. Something else makes his guts spasm, and it hurts almost as bad as the baby, but then it's out, and he's finally,  _finally_  coming down, collapsing against the bed with a massive sigh. He folds his arms over his stomach—or tries to, anyway, but the pain's still too intense and he stops, dropping them back at his sides.

For a moment, his brain is radio static. Nothing more. And then he hears a soft thumping sound and a watery, almost gargling wail, and he realizes: he did it.

He’s still alive, as far as he can tell, and it’s over.

Maes helps (or forces) him to sit up straighter, and Roy can feel the other man shaking beside him, from excitement, or eagerness, or maybe just from being so overwhelmed. Knox starts to hold the little bundle of blankets out towards both of them, and Hughes looks like a dumb dog who can’t decide if he wants to keep the chew toy in his mouth or drop it and grab the new one getting waved in his face. After a couple seconds, he still hasn’t let go of Roy, so Knox grumbles and sets the baby down on Roy’s stomach. “He looks good, kids. A little small, but he’s got all his fingers and toes.”

Part of Roy's just a little insulted at being called a kid—never mind the actual child sitting on his chest, he's been an adult since before Ishval, and  _more_  of an adult than most people his age after. But... Well, it doesn't really bother him much. Swallowing, he hesitantly wraps his arms around the baby, turning his face away from Maes and... Shit. Trying not to look like he suddenly has more doubts about this than ever. Hughes, though—Hughes lets him drown in his worries for no more than a fraction of a second, grabbing Roy without warning and peppering his entire face with wet, teary-eyed kisses.

“Hughes. Hughes! _Maes!_ Damn it, I’m fine!” The last thing Roy, or  _anybody_ , for that matter, needs after having their entire abdomen dragged through the wringer, is to get slobbered on by Maes Hughes, blubbering like the overdramatic idiot he is. Groaning, he tries in vain to squirm away, but it's like his limbs are made of jelly. There's no escaping it this time. 

“I’m just p… I-I’m juss s-so proud of you!” Maes frantically smooths Roy’s hair back and out of his face, sniffling noisily as he stops to beam down at the red-faced, ugly thing in Roy’s arms.

“Good work.” Roy’s tempted to feel genuinely complimented when Knox says that, scooping his equipment back into his bag before standing up. “We’ll talk about your recovery later, and I don’t want to hear from this one—“ He jabs a finger in Hughes’ direction. “—that you’re trying to climb out of bed and run around before you’ve rested for a couple days. And _you—“_ He nods stiffly at Hughes. “Take it easy on him. He’s technically my patient, and I’ll give you the bum’s rush if you aren’t going to let him have any peace and quiet.”

“Y-Yes, sir! Sorry.” Maes eases Roy down against the pile of pillows, pulling his hands away for all of two seconds before he starts tucking Roy in like he’s made of glass.

Nodding dumbly, Roy lets all that sink in for a moment before he goes back to feeling dazed. Maes seems to think he did something crazy. Something way more insane than what actually happened. Granted, the fact that Roy's a man adds a bit of a spin to it, but still; this is something thousands of people do each and every day. Roy's not that amazing. Hell, he has no idea what to say now. No clue, honestly. He barely even notices the kid, and yeah, part of him realizes that's probably bad, but right now, seems like all he can focus on is how he feels like he just did the biggest favor in the world for Maes. And, when he thinks about it, he's actually pretty damn happy about that.

Lifting an arm, Maes timidly reaches out to touch the baby, then makes a high-pitched choking sound when one of his tiny hands grabs at Maes’ finger. Roy rolls his eyes. For God's sake, even he knows that's just some reflex, and not the kid doing it because he’s already in love with the both of them. He probably won't so much as recognize either of them for at least a few months.

Still, when Roy watches Maes’ face... Yeah, he _does_ want to smack him upside the head and tell him to calm the hell down, but he also feels like he got sucker punched himself. Snorting, he shakes his head, deciding that he’s fine with watching Maes fall completely apart.

 

 *

 

Roy’s losing his mind. He _has_ to be. Must be a guaranteed side effect of getting no more than one or two hours of sleep a night, if that. And his patience? Well, assuming he had any to begin with, it’s melted into nothing and seeped down the drain a long time ago. He isn’t sure what gets him out of bed anymore; it ought to be parental affection, or motivation, or even some animalistic, biological insistence his body is making, overpowering his brain and demanding he care for his offspring. But, no—it isn’t any of those things. Roy’s certain the only emotion getting him through this is pure, undiluted _spite._

Spite directed (almost entirely) towards the universe, which decided to throw this situation, or perhaps the baby himself— _Luca_ , his name is Luca—in Roy’s face, probably as some attempt to slow him down on his mission, if not stop him entirely. But all it’s really done is motivate Roy further. Like he said: spite. He’s going to work harder than ever, and become the most capable parent, the most respected, beloved führer that Amestris has ever seen, regardless of whether or not he has to deal with a squalling infant for a year or so in the interim. And if his heart gives out from the stress, Roy would honestly prefer that, since at least he’d be working towards his goals til the bitter end.

No, the phrase ‘stay-at-home mother’ will _never_ be applicable to Roy Mustang. Hell, it’d take a heart attack to get him to stop pursuing this. And when he has to haul his ass out of bed at two in the morning, knowing full well that he’ll have to show up at the office in four hours with a perfectly reasonable excuse for the massive bags under his eyes and constant yawning, he doesn’t complain. He just shuffles down the hall and into Luca’s room, lifting him out of his crib and mentally preparing himself for anything this brat plans to dish out.

Half an hour later, Hughes finds him there, pacing the room with his eyes bugging out of his skull, wondering how one tiny, screeching creature is somehow leaving him more exhausted and shell-shocked than some of his nights in Ishval. He gawks at Hughes stupidly for a good ten seconds before he finds his voice, babbling, “I fed him. He’s not dirty, he’s not wet, he—I thought he was tired, but he just won’t sleep. I rocked him, I did—I did everything! Every _goddamn thing_ , so why won’t he—?”

Hughes shushes him, holding out his arms so Roy can pass Luca to him. Roy gives him a suspicious once-over before he obeys. Seriously? What is he going to do that Roy didn’t think of? “Sometimes, babies just cry, y’know?”

“As in, for no reason whatsoever?” Hughes nods, like he’s surprised Roy doesn’t know that. Roy lets out a humorless chuckle. “That’s asinine. Why— _Why_ would they do that? There’s no point! If anything, that’s a _huge_ evolutionary disadvantage.” Y’know, Roy’s exhausted enough to be thinking some very strange things at the moment. Like how he loves dogs. You know why? Because they’re easy. They’re dumb, they’re sweet, they’re simple to train, and you can get them to do just about anything for a little bit of food. And, most importantly, they do everything for a _reason_.

“Are you being serious?” Hughes laughs, too, and it had better be due to exhaustion, otherwise Roy just might murder him. “Look, just…” He shuffles over to Roy, clearly just as half-asleep as he is, planting a kiss on Roy’s forehead and giving his shoulder a quick pat. “Go back to sleep. I’ll take care of it.”

“Really.” Roy trusts Hughes with this (more than he thought he ever would’ve, when this whole disaster began), but something about it seems too good to be true. But… not to the point where Roy’s going to look a gift horse right in the mouth. “… Fine.” He barely makes it through his bedroom door when the crying goes suddenly, jarringly silent. Tearing back into the nursery, Roy freezes as soon as he enters, gawking at Luca, already fast asleep as Hughes rocks him against his chest, one tiny fist closed around Hughes’ finger. Hissing at the lowest frequency he can physically manage, Roy demands, “ _How the hell did you do that!?”_

Hughes just shrugs because of course he does. “Who knows! I think babies are just… fickle.” He smiles, then keeps talking at a volume Roy is _certain_ would wake Luca up if _he_ spoke that loudly. “Must be my lucky night.”

“Mm.” Roy shoots him a glare before turning on his heel and heading back to bed. He sinks onto the mattress like it’s the softest cloud in the world, all while his mind keeps sending the same thought shooting through his head over and over, like when you can only remember one line of a song and nothing else. Lately, he’d been thinking of Maes as some sort of child psychic. Someone who was just incredibly gifted when it came to handling babies and the like. But… maybe that isn’t it. Maybe _Roy’s_ the problem.  It’s then, while drifting off, that Roy realizes far too late (as in, after giving _birth_ to one ‘too late’).

That he—Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, an extremely competent tactician and Colonel— absolutely _sucks_ with kids.

 

*

 

Maes takes Luca into work a few weeks later. He’d clutched the baby to his chest, blubbering, “It was my cousin’s dying wish that I take him and raise him as my own.” Choking back tears, he’d added, “That’s why I’ve decided he’s going to call me… _dad!”_ The interns all cooed and wiped away tears of their own, and Roy rolled his eyes so hard his face hurt. Maes was always good at putting on a show, but Roy knew part of that was because the big idiot was gifted when it came to crying over nothing. For God’s sake, he does it every time Luca yawns or makes a funny noise—y’know, things all babies do, and _have done_ since the beginning of time.

Later that day, Maes comes traipsing into his office, Luca propped up against his shoulder. Fuery jumps to his feet and walks over—so does Havoc, even if he doesn’t have the same bounce in his step. Hawkeye stays standing, leaned slightly against the wall, but Roy catches her smirking at him. He looks away irritatedly. Well, shit. They both know she’s the only in the office who’s privy to this whole fiasco; does she really have to lord it over his head like this?

“Boy, Lieutenant!” Fuery hones in on the kid, adjusting his glasses. “He looks just like you.”

“Heh!” Maes shifts Luca into the crook of one arm so he can scratch at a sideburn. “Imagine that! Guess the ol’ Hughes genes are stronger than I thought.”

Roy snorts. That’s an understatement.

Luca tolerates the rest of the unit boggling at him for a few more minutes, then lets out a long, miserable wail. Roy tries not to be too obvious as he winces— _damn_ , does that make his chest sting! He can’t even enjoy the shoe being put on the other foot, with Luca throwing a tantrum Maes for once, with the threat of leaking through his shirt looming over his head.

Annoyed, he leans his cheek into his hand, watching with a bored expression as Maes tries just about everything to cheer him up. When none of that works, Fuery tries taking him, then Falman, and just when Roy’s about to lose his temper for real and snap at Maes to get the hell out, Hawkeye makes a move. She plucks the kid out of Falman’s grip and dumps him into Roy’s arms, all in one smooth, fluid motion. Roy sputters a little, instinctively adjusting his grip as Luca finally goes quiet.

“Wow, Colonel.” Fuery leans over his desk, watching the baby breathlessly. “You two must have a special connection or something!”

 _Kid,_ Roy thinks, _you have no idea._

*

 

“This isn’t going to count for anything in _any_ legal sense. You know that, right?” They’d never be able to tell anyone about this—there wouldn’t be any real benefits; if anything, they’re taking a risk here due to all the potential ramifications. Plus, Roy never understood the significance of getting married after you’d already had the damn kid. How is a ring more incentive to stay together than a living, breathing child? He’s sure Hughes would've mentioned making an ‘honest woman’ out of Roy if his chances of getting incinerated weren’t so high.

That’s what Roy told him a few weeks ago, but it didn’t do any good. Didn’t dampen his enthusiasm, or convince him to reconsider. All that fed into Roy’s irritation, mostly directed at himself, of course; there was no reason he couldn’t say no to Hughes, and call the whole thing off, but…

Well, there was a reason. There was _always_ a goddamn reason, and that reason was usually Maes himself. Roy’s sick and tired of all of it—of being totally and completely wrapped around that man’s finger. That’s his mantra to keep sane, anyway, as he finds himself walking down the ‘aisle’ of Maes’ apartment in a suit, flowers pinned to his lapel as Maes watches him approach, melodramatic tears filling his eyes.

When the day’s through, Maes and Roy have said “I do” in front of an impressive attendance of three people: Knox (who grudgingly performed the ceremony, after what Roy can only assume must’ve been an substantial bout of blackmailing on Hughes’ end), Lieutenant Hawkeye, and their infant son.

Somehow, Roy still isn’t surprised when Maes pulls him aside later, sniffling a bit and insisting, “That was perfect.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Do you know what he did today, Roy?”

“Hughes.”

“He took six steps. Six! That’s twice as many as yesterday. He’s gonna be a star athlete, I can just feel it.”

“ _Hughes.”_

“After that, he fell down, sure, but he didn’t even fuss. He’s getting to be so independent, I just—“

“Hughes!” Roy’s about two seconds away from slamming the receiver down, and frankly, he’s not sure it’d be much of an act. “This is a secure military line. So unless the Fuhrer himself gave you the go-ahead to rant about your damn kid for three hours straight, I suggest you take a raincheck and let me deal with _that_ particular headache in person.”

“Aww, come on, Roy!” Even coming through the earpiece all tinny and faint, Hughes’ whining is grating. “He’s practically walking. You have to admit, it’s pretty incredible.”

“I don’t have to admit anything,” grouses Roy. “And it’s not incredible. He’s toddling. That’s what toddlers do! For God’s sake, it’s right there in the name.”

“Oh, have a heart, why don’t you?” Roy can just _hear_ him pouting. “Hey, you’re coming to his birthday party, right?”

Roy’s so used to improvisation, and acting out personas, that he doesn’t even hesitate, answering Hughes as though he hasn’t heard the man go on and on about this particular event at home. Nope—no matter how many times they’ve discussed it (or, argued about it, really), this line’s not as private as his higher ups would have him believe. Therefore, as far as all of Central is concerned, this is the first Roy’s hearing of it. “You realize there’s no point to that, don’t you? He’ll be two: he’s not going to remember any of this in a few years.”

“I bought balloons, and my neighbor’s bringing her little girl over, and I’m having a special cake made—“ Hughes completely ignores him, rambling on and on as Roy rolls his eyes.

“ _Noted_. Goodbye.” With that, he really does hang up, falling back into his chair with a sigh.

Hawkeye walks over to thumb through a few of his unfinished forms, glancing aside once to make sure they really are alone. “That’s quite an act, Colonel. I’m surprised you can sound so dismissive when discussing your own child.”

“Oh, it’s not an act.” Roy shrugs, leaning back and folding his arms behind his head. He cares so deeply for both of them, it’s more or less terrifying—and certainly debilitating—but he’s not in denial or anything. Roy’s of the firm belief that you can love a person without taking twenty photos of them a day. “Annoying is annoying.”

 

*

 

“My God.” It hits Roy when he’s halfway towards making a dent in his avalanche of paperwork. Musing about their situation, about how it all happened, listening to Luca gum and slobber all over a rattle while perched in Hughes’ lap. “I trapped you.”

“Pardon?” Hughes doesn’t even look up, watching Luca gnaw on that thing like he’s attending a world class theatre show.

“Back at the Inn, the girls would—they talked about it all the time!” Once they found a rich enough client, they’d make them fall in love and then ‘forget’ to use any form of protection. With any luck, they’d get pregnant: whether they’d end up a mistress or a wife, they’d be taken care of for the rest of their lives. “Bagging some high roller and having their kid. I… For God’s sake, I _trapped_ you, Hughes.” For the longest time, he’d been following Roy up the political ladder at a leisurely rate, climbing the ranks at a slower, but still steady pace. But now he’s stuck at home half the time, watching Luca, and any chance of following in Roy’s footsteps has gone to the wayside. “You’re supposed to be a member of my inner circle when I make it to Führer, not sitting here, playing house-husband.”

“You think… you trapped me?” Finally looking up, Hughes slings an arm around Luca’s fat middle, gawking at Roy like the realization’s finally dawning on him. Then he bursts out laughing. “O-Oh, man! You’re right! I’m stuck forever with a beautiful kid, a gorgeous, _successful_ Military man…” He sniffles dramatically, holding Luca out and bouncing him up and down until he giggles. “You hear that, little guy? Daddy’s doomed! At this rate, your mom’s gonna end up Führer, and dad’s gonna have to stay at home, with you, all holed up in an _awful_ , beautiful mansion, forever and ever! Ohhh, the _horror!”_

“Alright, alright.” Roy smacks his face with one hand and lets out a muffled groan. _Mom._ He’s tried to keep Hughes from calling him that in front of the kid, but clearly, it hasn’t stuck. Screw it. A jackass like Hughes deserves to be trapped. “Point taken. You can go to hell, now.”

 

*

 

“Mama!” Luca shoves a piece of paper, wrinkled beyond recognition, forcibly into Roy’s hands.

Frowning, Roy holds it out at arm’s length. “Uh. Scribbles.” What the hell is this? “Thanks.”

“Noooo!” Oblivious to the fact that he’s got the musculature of a wet paper bag, Luca starts trying to heave himself up onto Roy’s lap. Rolling his eyes, Roy scoots back in his chair, cupping an arm under Luca’s rear and lifting him up against his chest. Luca squirms until he manages to turn around, and as soon as Roy sets the beat-up piece of paper down on the desk, Luca slaps one chunky finger against it. “Das… me, an’… dat yoo. An’ dat daddy!”

Roy looks at where the Luca’s pointing with a grimace. “If you say so, kid.”

Luca stares up at him, mostly confused and slightly offended, and it’s then that Roy notices Hughes growl from the doorway behind him. “ _Roy.”_ This is one of the few times Roy’s heard the other man sound genuinely _pissed_. Lately, each time it happens, it’s because Roy’s apparently made some sort of unforgivable parenting faux-pas.

“What?” Roy really doesn’t get what he did wrong here.

“Luuuuuca!” It’s like a switch was flipped. Hughes goes from quiet, clinical fury to doting dad frighteningly fast. Hurrying over to the desk, Hughes gingerly picks up the piece of paper and holds it up like it’s a diploma. “Did you draw this? Or did a _professional artist_ sneak into our house?” Luca turns away, giggling bashfully, and Roy groans and buries his face in his hand. “Ohh, look at that! There’s you! You’re so cute, even as a drawing!” Luca giggles some more and Roy groans again, more muffled this time as he starts to stuff his entire fist in his mouth. “And there’s me! You made daddy look so handsome. Thank you! And there’s mommy… He looks really grumpy, huh? That’s pretty accurate.” Luca bursts out laughing at that one, and Roy jerks up, genuinely offended for a split second before he realizes how asinine this whole thing is.

“What the hell are you doing?” Roy hisses, glaring up at Hughes.

“What you’re supposed to do!” Hughes sing-songs back, returning Luca’s “portrait” to the kid and watching him slide off Roy’s lap and scamper off. “Jeeze, Roy. You’re supposed to make-believe that it’s really good—I mean, he _is_ pretty talented for his age! But you pretend that it’s even better than it is so you don’t crush his confidence.” After heaving a heavy sigh, Hughes ducks his head somberly. “This is almost as bad as that time you tried to tell him what beef was.”

Roy thinks back to that night—Luca asked what they were eating, Hughes said ‘steak’, Luca asked what steak was… Then, just before Roy could tell him it was dead cow, Hughes threw himself across the table and clamped one big, Neanderthal hand over his mouth. All Roy did was try and state a fact, but apparently, that’d be too much for Luca to handle. “The real world’s gonna knock him on his ass thanks to you.”

“Nah. I think he’ll be just fine.” Hughes waits until Roy gets up from his desk, then wraps an arm around his waist. Roy grumbles wordlessly before returning the favor.

Hughes is the biggest pushover in Amestris, but he’s managed to survive this long. Then again, maybe he’s only made it this far because Roy’s been looking out for him. Although, even if that is the case, he supposes Hughes is right. Luca _will_ be okay, even if he does end up a babbling moron like Hughes. Because, while he might not understand the kid in the slightest, Roy’s going to have his back for the rest of his life.

 

*

 

“I’m surprised you’re really considering this.” Roy knows that tone; Hawkeye’s trying to get a rise out of him, while still being as vague as possible and just assuming he’ll know what she means. And he does, of course. It’s still Hawkeye he’s talking to. They can practically read each other’s minds by now, even if Hawkeye probably thinks she’s a tad better at it than Roy is. Hell, maybe that’s true, much as he hates to admit it. He never had to tell her about Maes, or Luca. She just _knew_ , as ludicrous as it sounds.

“How so?” He leans against the side of the wagon casually, as if the way it shakes against the bumpy road isn’t threatening to dislocate his shoulder.

“Regardless of how determined you think that boy is, becoming a state alchemist at such a young age is…” Whatever she wants to say, she doesn’t think she should be saying it out loud. At least, not around the complete stranger who happens to be driving them. And Roy can more or less see her point: sure, the odds that this guy is anything _but_ some kindly, backwoods farmer who’s never put a foot outside of Risembool are astronomical, but why take the risk? So Roy leans back a little further, waiting patiently for her to rephrase her question in a less incriminating way. “Well. If… circumstances were different, and a young person who… _happened_ to be close to you was put in the Elrics’ situation, I wonder if you’d really be encouraging this.”

Oof. That’s a low blow, and the worst part is how Roy has to pretend like Hawkeye completely missed her mark. “Of course I wouldn’t. But ‘encouraging’ has nothing to do with it. That kid was going to do _something_ with all that pent up rage. I just helped direct it towards a goal that’s less likely to get him killed. Maybe if he has us looking out for him, he won’t end up a total maniac.” Sighing a lengthy, dramatic sigh, Roy cranes his head back, studying the clouds. The countryside really is beautiful out here. Who knows? Maybe when he’s Fuhrer, he’ll build himself a private office out here. “Besides, if there… If I ever _do_ have that kind of say in some kid’s life…” He slumps forward, gritting his jaw for a moment before giving Hawkeye a very dark look. “That kid isn’t going within a hundred miles of a military recruiter.”

To her credit, Hawkeye doesn’t bat an eyelash. “You say that now…”

Anyone else—at least, anyone who knew Roy’s full story at this point—would probably be doubting his parental capabilities. Well, they’d be doing that to begin with, and they’d be calling the police on him after watching him this afternoon. Namely, when he started shaking a one-armed, one-legged kid around like a ragdoll. But it’s like he said: Hawkeye knows him better than that. Better than any other person he’s ever known, even Hughes. She doesn’t need words to understand the way he’d felt sick with himself afterwards. She probably knows his mind went to Luca as soon as he dropped that Elric kid back in his chair—pictured someone else shaking his son like that, telling him to get it together.

“I know what you’re gonna tell me.” Groaning, Roy picks a stray tuft of hay off his sleeve. “You don’t have to say it. I’ve gone soft.”

“Not quite.” Oh, so it’s a ‘not quite’, is it? That still means Roy’s gone semi-soft. “You’ve changed.”

“Have I?” Roy cocks an eyebrow.

“Mm.” She could mean that as a good thing, or a bad thing. Her usual lack of expression means it could go either way. But more importantly, it helps him realize something else. That he needs to renege his earlier ‘reading her like a book’ comment.

This woman’s inner workings are a damn mystery to him.

 

*

 

Roy could count on one hand how many people knew about Luca. Specifically, Roy’s connection to him and Hughes. Just five people—Luca, Hughes, Hawkeye, Marcoh, and Knox, having delivered the damn kid.

But then the Elric brothers had to come marching into Central and raise the count by two. And if Roy had gotten to pick—if he had the _option_ of choosing who happened to see Hughes barge into his office, toting Luca and spilling some of Roy’s best-kept secrets based on the assumption that they were _alone_ …

Well. Edward Elric wouldn’t have been very high on the list.

“Hey, sorry!” Hughes enters Roy’s office, holding Luca over his head like a prize trout as he shuts and locks the door behind him. “I know you don’t want him to see you at work, but everyone’s off today, so I figured it’d be okay! Plus, he keeps going on and on about his mom—I think he misses you!”

Roy stands there in a total daze, barely managing to hold Luca up when Hughes drops the kid right into his arms with zero warning. It’s all he can do not to pass out from shame when Edward sticks his head out from behind Roy, staring up at Hughes with a disbelieving sneer as he echoes, “His… _mom?”_

“Hughes.”

“Who’s this?” Hughes’ dopey grin fades slowly, and it gradually dawns on him that he’s just screwed up. _Big time_. He flounders helplessly, holding his hands forward like he’s trying to keep Roy from attacking.  “Oh. O-Oh, no, I didn’t—Roy! I’m so sorry. I didn’t see him at all. H-He’s just so short, and he was behind y—“

“ _WHO THE HELL ARE YOU CALLING SHORT!?”_ Ed acts like Hughes just pissed on his mother’s grave. The kid goes flying and lands a devastating blow before Roy can even blink.

Sadly, watching the newly-dubbed Fullmetal alchemist kick his sort-of-husband in the groin doesn’t help repair Roy’s pride all that much. “Hm.” Shifting Luca to rest on his side, Roy bounces him a little, like Hughes is always pestering him to do, grumbling, “Great first impressions all around.”

 

*

 

Roy can’t keep from smirking when he opens the door, leaning against the frame casually. “Evening, Fullmetal.”

Ed’s face visibly droops. “Oh. Yeah. You live here, too.” Well, Roy supposes he more or less does. His time is split between Hughes’ apartment, and his own, to prevent suspicion. But after Hughes invited the Elrics to stay with him, Roy made _sure_ he was rooming with Hughes tonight.

“Well? You gonna stay out there all night, or are you gonna come in?” Roy steps aside, gesturing for the boys to come in. Al makes a move to step forward, but Ed stops him, throwing those shrimpy fists in the air and snarling.

“What a friggin’ pain in the ass! It’s bad enough dealing with you for five minute in your office, there’s _no way_ I’m gonna stay in your house! I don’t care how nice your huhh…” Ed’s face contorts, like he can’t fully stomach saying the ‘H’ word. “ _Hughes_ is. It’s not worth dealing with you.”

“Brother, come on!” Even Alphonse, Sir Passive himself, is starting to sound fed up with Ed. “It was really nice of the Colonel to let us stay here.” Then, lowering his voice to the point where he _thinks_ Roy couldn’t hear (seriously? What is he, eighty? Because the kid’s making it sound like he’s deaf.) he adds, “I don’t get why you hate him so much! All he ever does is try to help us.”

“I never said I hate him, damn it!” Ed swipes at Al—reminds Roy of an wet cat. “I just can’t stand his attitude. Or his stupid face. Or his—“

“Yeah, all right. My hospitality’s starting to wear thin.” Roy jerks his thumb towards the inside of the apartment, a little more forcefully. “You coming or not?”

“Mama, I—“ Luca stumbles over, flat out running into Roy’s leg and then, instead of apologizing, grabbing onto his pants for leverage as he steadies himself and looks up at the Elric brothers. “Um. Colonel.” Too little, too late, kid. “Who’re you?”

“These are the Elric brothers. They’re going to be staying with us tonight.” Bending, he heaves Luca into his arms, squeezing him gently. Then, ignoring the confused look on the kid’s face, he starts gushing. It’s hard, pretending like he’s the type of person who would be caught _dead_ cooing over anything—as in, a person like Hughes—but he knows the results will be worth it. “Alphonse, this is Luca. Isn’t he the most _precious_ thing you’ve ever seen?”

Fullmetal gawks for a good three or four seconds, then yelps at such a high pitch, his voice cracks. “Are you _kidding_ me?”

“Whaaat?” To his credit, Luca looks like he’s seen a ghost, shrinking away uncomfortably when Roy bends his neck and nuzzles at the little guy. “How can I resist this face? He’s like a little angel.” Actually, he’s more like a tiny version of Maes the universe sent just to screw with him (what’s even more of a headache than one Maes Hughes, after all?), but Roy’s learning to be at peace with that fact.

“H-He is very cute,” Alphonse pipes up awkwardly.

“Stop it!” snaps Edward, smacking at Alphonse again. “Don’t encourage him! He’s just being lovey dovey with the kid to freak us out.” Lowering his voice, he mumbles darkly, “Like when a psychopath is about to kill you. He acts all friendly, gets your guard down, then— _BAM!_ ” Edward mimes smashing a blunt object against the back of an invisible victim’s skull.

Alphonse is quiet for a second, then shakes his head with a quiet clanking sound. “You’re crazy, brother.”

Roy smirks, giving another slow, inviting gesture to encourage Ed to listen to his brother.

Fullmetal narrows his eyes and growls from between his teeth, basically an overly aggressive little dog. “I. _Hate._ You.”

He says that, but he comes in anyway, heedless of Luca’s awed gawking. (Which is probably to be expected: Edward looks like he’s barely older than Luca is. To see a fellow child yelling at Roy the way Ed does must be mind-blowing.)

The rest of the night, Roy acts like a completely different person. And, yes, it’s _solely_ to mess with Ed. Normally, he’s not much for affection. He’ll let Maes get sappy sometimes, sure, but more often than not Roy squirms and spits at him like a feral animal every time he tries something funny.  Maes doesn’t mind; he’ll goose Roy and make him jump a foot in the air, then laugh about how pissed it makes him. In fact, Maes knows Roy isn’t built for this romantic crap, and he seems to actively enjoy tormenting him because of it.

That means he’s is suspicious as hell when Roy stomachs all the kisses and waist grabs and crap like that. Roy knows he’s gonna get an earful when they head to bed, but he’s willing to make that sacrifice just to watch Fullmetal squirm. Luca’s got no idea that this is a special occasion, but he can tell _something’s_ up. Still, even though he’s got this permanently confused expression, he lets Roy dote on him, bounce him on his hip, kiss him, throw him up in the air and catch him. Et cetera. All the stuff people who are _naturals_ at being parents might do. All the stuff Maes does for him every day, that Roy rarely gets to see because he’s too busy pretending he’s got nothing in common with the kid.

Hell, he doesn’t know. Maybe this isn’t some big ploy to mess with Edward Elric. Maybe that’s just some icing on the cake. Could be that it’s just enough of an excuse—just enough of a ploy that he can blame on his once-in-a-while gadfly personality—for Roy to justify this. Is this simply to make up for years of being gone too long, or how weird he feels around his own kid a lot of the time? Of course not!  He just wants to make a teenage boy who gives him too much lip have an aneurysm.

A couple hours later, Luca and the brothers are in bed, and Maes pulls him close, squeezing him tight and kissing him deeply.  He moves almost agonizingly slow, and Roy struggles to breathe when he pulls away.

Nobody’s awake to play mind games with. Roy’s got no reason to suck it up and let Maes go to town, other than his own exhaustion. Still, Roy doesn’t fight it one bit. Because, as much as his pride insists otherwise, he never actually wants to.

 

*

 

“Fullmetal?” Roy’s about to ask how the hell the kid knew he’d be here—at Hughes’ apartment instead of his own, and more importantly, what he wants, but one look at the pipsqueak’s face knocks the wind out of him. “… What happened?”

“Nothing.” Damn. The echo from Alphonse’s armor just makes that tiny voice sound even sadder. “I mean… We just…”

“Luca.” Ed mutters the name so quietly, Roy barely hears him.

Crossing his arms defensively, Roy grumbles, “What about him?”

“I… We thought it might…” Alphonse’s voice is shaking, and Roy grits his teeth, despising how the sound feels like a punch to the gut. “A-After Nina, I…”

“I told you. You both need to move forward.” Hughes gave Roy a talking to after what he’d said earlier. Most people would probably agree that Roy was too hard on the kids, but if Roy’s going to look out for him, he’ll do it _his way_. “What happened to that little girl was despicable. There’s no getting around it. But you’ll never help anyone if you spend all your time dwelling on the past.”

It’s easy to see every inch of Fullmetal tense up with anger, but Roy knows the kid’s in sorry shape when he still can’t be bothered to raise his voice. “ _Bastard.”_

“Call me whatever you want.” Roy leans against the doorframe casually, frowning just slightly when he thinks back to the mess in Tucker’s lab. “But I’m telling you what you need to hear, whether you like it or not.”

Things are dead silent for a few seconds—maybe a full minute, Roy’s not really sure. Then Alphonse pipes up again, a fraction steadier this time. “May we come in?”

Roy stands in their way for a while longer, then sighs. Damn it. All right, screw it—maybe he just doesn’t have it in him tonight. He gives Fullmetal’s head the least condescending pat he can manage, cocking an eyebrow when the kid doesn’t even twitch. “Why not.”

Luca sees them, or maybe hears Alphonse’s armor, and comes scrambling into the front hall, babbling up at the brothers happily about something Roy only half understands. Even though he could tell the boys weren’t doing so well when he let them in, it still catches Roy by surprise when Ed crumples to the ground and pulls Luca into a desperate hug.

 

*

 

Brigadier General.

Roy never thought he’d feel sick after hearing those words, but here they are.

It should have been him getting that title instead of Hughes, with Hughes helping him out from the sidelines. Roy’s the one who _deserves_ it. He deserves to be promoted, even if being promoted would put him in that casket instead of Hughes. Hell— _especially_ then. And if that’s what it took to bring him back, Roy would trade places with him in a heartbeat. Hearing Roy think those sorts of things would’ve pissed Hughes off, Roy guarantees it. Roy can’t go around thinking of offing himself. Somebody has to take care of Luca.

Luca’s here now, standing next to Major Armstrong, looking tinier than ever. Roy knows he’s completely lost, sobbing quietly to himself. He has nobody to hold onto, or take direction from, but he’s also too old to run off or cause a scene. He understands exactly what’s going on, and what happened to his father, and there’s no one around to help him through what he’s feeling. Roy can’t do a damn thing about it; as far as everyone here knows, Luca’s got no relation to him. He’s an honorary uncle and nothing more. To risk revealing their relationship as anything closer means risking Roy’s job. His paycheck, his _dream_.

Tomorrow, he’ll volunteer to adopt Luca. The entire military knows he was close to Hughes, and Luca has no one else. It’ll be seen as a charitable act. An expected, if not overly-gracious favor to a dear, recently deceased friend. Luca only has to make it through one miserable day, and after that, Roy can do his best to comfort him. They can actually be alone together.

The thing is, Roy knows what he’s supposed to do. What a good parent _would_ do. It should be instinctual—he should have to _fight himself_ , hold his urges back to keep from running over to Luca and grabbing him, pulling the kid into his arms and squeezing him so hard that neither of them can breathe. Rumors and dishonorable discharges be damned. That’s the sort of raw, animal instinct you’re supposed to feel when you see your child, the thing you carried inside you for most of a goddamn _year_ , having his heart ripped out right in front of you.

Maes would do it. There’d be no hesitation. No thought of keeping his dignity, or concern regarding other people watching him. His reputation wouldn’t even be a factor. But Roy’s not that type of parent. Not that type of person. He’s tried to be, but it’s not in him. Maybe Ishval beat it out of him. Maybe it’s not something he ever had in the first place.

It still hurts to watch him, or to even look at him. So Roy doesn’t. He stares, stone-faced, as the casket gets lowered into the ground, and as the dirt gets slung on top of it, one swing of a shovel after another. Roy stays there, standing perfectly still, a black emptiness bleeding through every inch of his insides. He stays there until every last person is gone. Hughes’ weeping officemates, their friends, all of Roy’s subordinates, and even the Fuhrer himself. He’s still in a numb, but somehow painful daze when Hawkeye walks over to him, Luca’s hand held tightly in hers.

It still doesn’t come from any form of instinct. Roy has to force himself to do it, ordering his limbs to obey him as he crouches down and tugs Luca into his arms, lifting him slowly and squeezing the boy with all his might. Luca’s still, stiff in his grasp for a moment, but then he shivers. Only slightly, at first, but then he’s nothing but a violently trembling ball, curled up in Roy’s poor excuse for a hug. Roy’s expression crumples and he lets out a shuddering sigh, burying his face against Luca’s shoulder.

And for the first time all day, he feels tears start to rush down his cheeks.

 

*

 

“Colonel.”

“Shit.” Roy starts a bit—he didn’t even hear the damn door open. Groaning, he runs his hand through his hair, entertaining the idea of looking up at Hawkeye, but ultimately deciding against it. Still, he can’t hide the way he flinches when she turns on the lights. He… guesses he didn’t realize how dark it had gotten.

“Do you know what time it is?” She’s always been good at that—having the perfect tone of voice. Not commanding enough to seem like she’s bossing a superior around, but still severe enough to make it clear that she’s not going to let Roy leave without listening to what’s on her mind.

“Yeah, it’s… “ Roy trails off, glancing down at the clock on his desk. Huh. It’s almost midnight. Looks like he overdid it a little, but as terrible as it is—and he’ll readily admit that it _is_ terrible—he’d rather be safe than sorry. There’s no way the kid’s still awake at this point. “It’s late.”

“Why are you still here.” It’s not a question. Forget what he just said, Hawkeye’s _commanding_ him to answer, and they both know Roy can only hold out for so long before he does.

“I had a lot of paperwork.”

“You don’t.” She basically talks over the end of his sentence, barely letting him spit it out.

“Fine. I was looking into case files—“

“You finished hours ago.” Roy finally glances up, and, predictably, regrets it. That cold stare’s even harsher than the lights. “You said it was a dead end. I’ll ask you again.” Her eyes narrow. “Why are you still here?”

“Does it matter?” Roy snaps at her, and yeah, it isn’t exactly typical, but what the hell does he care? It stings a little when he sees the look of surprise on her face, but compared to everything else, it’s a drop in the bucket. “I’m here, and I’m not leaving.”

“You have to go home.” Maybe he’s imagining it, but it almost seems like there’s a slight tremble to her voice. Knowing her, it could be from fear, or barely withheld anger.

“I can’t. Not yet.” Roy gets up from his desk, turning to face the window, then sighing and dropping his forehead against the frigid glass.

“You _have_ to go home,” Riza repeats herself, speaking a little softer. “He needs you.”

That last line is what breaks him, and before he can stop himself, Roy’s seething. “Yeah? What the _hell_ do you know, Lieutenant?” He rounds on her, turning sharply to face her with his teeth bared like some kind of animal. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe, just _maybe_ , he’s the reason I’m still here?” 

Riza just stares, looking more shocked than Roy’s seen her in years. Not since their first week in Ishval. He really hoped he’d never have to see that expression again.

There’s a long pause before he mutters, “He doesn’t look a thing like me, you know.” Roy’s not sure when it happened, but he finds himself staring down at his hands, watching them shake. “Not even his eyes.” The words fall out of his mouth. He didn’t mean to say them out loud—they sounded too cruel. Too insensitive. Like he doesn’t even think of the kid as his own person, but—“It’s like seeing a ghost.”

Hawkeye isn’t the touchy-feely type. Roy thinks, if things had turned out completely different, and he’d had a family her, instead of Maes, she still wouldn’t do anything like kiss his cheek, or hold his hand. If anybody was watching them, maybe they’d think Hawkeye was being cold when she reached out and gripped his shoulder—gripped it _hard_.

Roy knows better, though. And it gets to him, a lot more than he wanted it to. A couple hot droplets fall onto Riza’s sleeve, but she doesn’t say a thing. Neither of them do.

He’s grateful for that, too.

 

*

 

“Colonel?” Roy hears Luca’s timid voice, and watches as a nurse leads him towards Roy’s bed. Roy waits until she’s out of the room to answer.

“Luca...” Sighing, he adjusts himself on the hospital bed, feeling like every one of his bones is fighting him when he does it. “They’re gone now. It’s okay. You can call me…” Roy mumbles wordlessly instead of finishing that sentence. Five years, and he still can’t say it. He just doesn’t have the stomach to think back to Hughes teasing him about it. “You know.”

“Mom.” Every since he got to be a little older, Luca figured out how to do Maes’ trademark magic trick. The one where his eyes go from looking gentle and dopey to harsh and, frankly, a little scary. Lifting his arm, he points at the sliver of skin peeking out from under Roy’s scrubs. A flash of the cauterizing wound. “What’s that?”

“That? Nothing. It’s—don’t worry about it.” Roy winces, smoothing his shirt down. He doesn’t have to look up to know that the same expression is still plastered on the kid’s face. “I just got hurt. But I’m better now. Don’t worry.”

“I am gonna worry!” Luca shouts, and it’s so sudden, Roy actually jumps. “You got hurt _so bad_. I saw it before. You had bandages all over.” He paws at his tiny middle, face crumpling. It’s like he’s picturing his own stomach all burned up, imagining how badly it must’ve hurt, and _damn it_ , it almost hurts Roy just to watch. “You shouldn’t be doing anything that dangerous! I don’t want you to get hurt anymore. O-Or…”

Roy knows just what he’s saying. Or, what he’s trying to. Luca’s plenty articulate for a five-year-old, but he can’t be as straightforward as he probably would like to. Still: Roy can hear the unspoken words, the _blame_ and guilt he’s trying to throw in his face. He’s trying to say, ‘ _Don’t get yourself killed, too.’_

And Roy knows he’s right.

“Luca…” Roy sits up and scoots to the side of the bed, throwing his legs over the side. He hangs his head, elbows resting on his knees as he slumps. “Something bad is happening. I don’t know for sure what it is yet, but I know that it’s dangerous. And if I don’t help stop it, lots of other people could die.” People like Maes. Like _Luca._

He lifts his gaze and almost winces. It’s obvious that all of this is falling on deaf ears. Luca doesn’t care about random, hypothetical people—he just doesn’t want to lose another parent.

Swallowing, Roy reaches out and cups Luca’s cheeks as the kid comes closer. “But… you’re right. I need to be more careful.” His throat is twisting like a horde of snakes. It’s been days since he nearly bled out on the floor next to Havoc, and this is the first time he’s actually felt shaken up by it. But he’s had plenty of practice, building up undeserved confidence. Lying right to people’s faces. “Nothing is gonna happen to me. I’m gonna be just fine.”

 Luca’s lip quivers. “Promise?”

Roy kisses his temple. “Promise.”

Luca lunges forward, wrapping his arms so tight around Roy’s middle it practically knocks the air out of him. “Okay.”

Smiling weakly (which is a lot harder than it sounds, since Luca’s squeezing him right over the burn), Roy hesitates, then wraps his arms around those skinny shoulders, pulling Luca up onto the bed with him. He’s quiet for a minute or two, then says, “Besides. I know if I can’t keep that promise, you’re gonna kick my ass.”

Maes, wherever he is, must be gushing over them both, because this might be the first time Roy’s ever made the kid laugh.

 


	4. Chapter 4

The Rockbell girl, as far as Roy understands, is a childhood friend of the Elrics. But despite that reputation, she seems perfectly well behaved. Almost _suspiciously_ so. Roy’s not convinced it isn’t an act, and if it is, he doesn’t buy it. If she’s one tenth as obnoxious as Ed, he’s already dreading spending any alone time with her. Still; he’s got a favor to ask, and it just barely outweighs how badly he doesn’t want to do this.

“You’re Miss Rockbell, right?” He approaches her after she’s finished threatening Ed with a massive wrench in one fist while the boy cowers. That’s a good sign—it means she and Roy have some common ground.

Starting, she turns around, arm going limp at her side. “Uh… yeah?”

“I understand you were acquainted with my late colleague, Hughes.” In a way, saying that out loud makes Roy _less_ sad. He can just picture Hughes laughing about how formal and distant he’s being. Saying something like, ‘Even if you’re just saving face, you could at least call me your best friend!’

She looks surprised, then a lot sadder than Roy expected her to. “Yes, he… He let me stay with him and his son a few times when I was in Central.”

“So I heard.” Hughes wouldn’t shut up about what a good little helper she was. At one point, Roy was actually scared the moron might ask whether they could adopt her. Roy’s never had the chance to meet her before this point, but he’s fairly certain she’s not going to live up to Hughes’ lofty impression of her. (Practically no one does.) “I had a personal project I was hoping you might be able to help me with.  Something… related to Luca. I think it may have come up when you were spending time with him and his father.”

“Well, my field of expertise is mostly automail, but…” The girl’s features harden determinedly, and in that moment, her expression becomes _startlingly_ similar to Hawkeye’s. “If it’s for Luca, I’ll do my best.”

Turns out, she is a nice young woman, and a few hours later, they’re in the kitchen at Roy’s apartment. He’s covered in burn marks and flour, absolutely reeking of failure. Meanwhile, Winry’s trying to downplay the disaster area they’re standing in.

“I don’t get it,” he growls as he turns the timer off, yanking the oven door open and pulling out another blackened monstrosity. There’s no point in trying to salvage it, so he cuts to the chase, dumping it immediately into the sink.

“Again?” Winry makes a ‘tssk’ noise, like she’s ready to scold Roy. Lucky for her, she seems to think better of it and asks gently, “What did you do this time? I keep telling you, you have to follow the recipe.”

“I _was_ following it. I just made a few tiny changes.” Winry looks downright insulted, so Roy rushes to cover his ass. “It’s basic math!” he snaps. “Doubling the temperature means the cooking time should be reduced by half.”

“It’s not a race, Colonel!” Kneading at her forehead, Winry hangs her head tiredly. “You’re an alchemist, right? How about that equivalent exchange stuff you people always talk about?” She starts gesturing, making a few frustrated chops of her arm. “Well, the equivalent exchange for doubling the temperature means you also double the chances of burning everything to a crisp!” She stares at him, looking lost and sort of sad, then pipes up again, quieter this time. “Listen: you’re obviously really smart, and I’m glad you’re looking out for Ed and Al.” Roy makes a face; he’d like to point out that he never really _asked_ for that responsibility, and that it more or less happened on its own, but he realizes now’s not the time. “Luca, too. I think you’re great at taking care of people as is. Being good at baking or cooking isn’t important. You don’t need to make good food to be a good…” She probably wants to say parent, but feels she’s overstepping her boundaries. Heh. If only she knew. “Besides, it’s…” She lets out a deep, exhausted breath. “I don’t think it’s your calling.”

“You can go home.” That sounded just a bit harsher than Roy wanted it to. Winry’s been letting him bastardize her grandmother’s recipe for the past few hours and hasn’t complained once; he’d feel like a complete jackass if he lost his temper at her on top of that. “I appreciate everything you’ve done. Really.” He wipes his hands on a nearby towel, grimacing. “But I’ll work it out on my own.”

“How about… _I_ just make you a pie?” She doesn’t wait for Roy to answer, which is good, because Roy’s not sure how he should respond. Instead, he stays quiet for a minute, watching dumbly as Winry rolls out the last of the dough like a seasoned pastry chef. “But in exchange, can you tell me why this is so important?”

Roy shakes his head, thinking back to this morning. It was another hard one for Luca. He didn’t want to get up, didn’t want to go to school… In the end, Roy fought with him, and now he’s pretty sure the kid hates him. More than usual, anyway. Hell, Roy would hate him, too. What kind of cold bastard won’t let his own child mourn a little?

Him, apparently.

And now, he can’t even think of a good way to make it better. He’s always been great at thinking of the perfect thing to say, especially when he’s playing a part, but there’s no acting involved with Luca. Kid sees right through him, just like Hughes did. And Roy’s got no clue how to fix this with words. Best he could come up with was that old recipe Hughes used to make. Roy’s never been a fan of sweets, but Luca loved it when Hughes baked something. He’d never touched an oven in his life before Luca came along, but that big, goofy idiot got pretty good at it by the end.

Roy’s not sure he’ll be able to make himself say ‘I’m sorry.’ He knows he _should_ , but he doesn’t know whether he can. And, well…

A pie’s not going to make up for the fact that he’s a shitty parent, but maybe it’ll take it off Luca’s mind for a while.

That’s the real answer to Winry’s question, but it’s not the one she gets. All he says out loud is, “That’s confidential.”

 

*

 

Luca points accusatorily towards the stovetop. “You’re supposed to break the noodles before you put them in the pot.”

“Huh?” Where the hell does this kid get off bossing him around? Roy’s not about to win any blue ribbons for his food, but this isn’t like when he tries to bake. He can _cook_ something edible, and that’s all the know-how he needs. “It’s fine. Go sit down.”

Huffing, Luca slouches against the counter, watching the steam rise with a dull expression on his face before muttering, “That’s not how Riza does it.”

“ _Gck!”_ Roy bristles from head to toe, starting to force the pasta down into the pot with a spoon. Damn it! Leave it to his kid to get under his skin in two seconds flat. “Well, this is how _I_ do it.”

“She also says getting a dog isn’t a dumb idea.” All right—Roy knows what’s going on. He’s just bent on starting trouble. “And she helped me with my math homework. Riza says math’s really important, and that if you ever want to be Fuhrer, you should be able to do basic algebra.”

“What!?” Is that woman trying to drive him insane? What the hell is she doing, telling his kid things like— “W-Wait! Wait a damn second.” Swallowing, Roy goes still as the realization dawns on him. “… She lets you call her Riza?”

“Yeah?” The intimacy of that flying right over his head, Luca rests his cheek against his hand and gives Roy that ‘confused puppy’ look. “So?”

Working his jaw, Roy turns and starts pulling some plates down from the cupboard. “No reason. Just… go set the table.”

“Are you mad or something?” Luca tilts his head, craning around to get a look at Roy’s expression. “Your face is all red.”

“I _said…“_ Roy rounds on Luca, brandishing that wooden spoon like it’s a far more threatening kitchen utensil. “Go. Set. _The table.”_

*

 

“Automail is not ‘cool’.” Growling through clenched teeth, Roy fights to keep calm. He knew letting Luca tag along for this was a mistake. He’s smart enough to know there are extremely important matters being discussed,  and that this is the _worst_ time to be a thorn in Roy’s side—he just doesn’t particularly care. “It’s an extremely painful, taxing, _last-resort_ medical procedure for people who have lost a limb. Limbs being, as far as I can tell, something you’re currently in full possession of.”

“It is _too_ cool.” Luca rests his cheek against the car window, letting out a huff. Roy still feels like having him in the car _does_ make the situation less conspicuous, but he’s beginning to question whether it’s worth the extra security of looking like a harmless family man. Madeline’s a good informant, but she’s bound to lose her patience with the situation, just like anyone would. “You can punch people in the face with automail! Or block them from punching you, and then you’d, like, break all their knuckles, or something. Plus, you can turn your arm into a _sword.”_

“Fine.” Roy makes a sharp left turn, then… winces a little when Madeline thumps against _her_ door as well as Luca. “Are you trying to tell me you’re willing to cut off your entire arm just so you can have a flashy prosthetic like Edward?”

In the rear-view mirror, Roy sees the kid’s brow furrowing— _damn_ , he looks like Hughes. Just as stubborn and unwilling to be reasoned with as his dad. “Well, maybe not an arm. Maybe just… a _hand_.”

“Uh…” Madeline sounds like she wants to speak up, but it can wait. Like Roy said—this is actually working in his favor. A long, drawn-out car ride seems a hell of a lot less suspect than a short, rapid one where he kicks the poor woman out on the street. (Although, he could probably make _that_ seem realistic, too, if he had her slap him before getting out.)

“Absolutely not.” Roy can’t fully believe he’s actually having this conversation, but children are tiny lunatics. Even one that’s smart for his age like Luca apparently isn’t immune to occasional bouts of insanity.

Roy swears he sees a nasty glint in the kid’s eyes from the rear-view mirror before he grumbles, “I bet my mom would’ve let me do it.”

Right. Madeline’s an informant, but she doesn’t know everything. Well, not _everything_ everything. There’s no reason to give up this particular secret—that is, Luca’s maternal relations—anyway, even if Roy does find her trustworthy. And now, Luca’s going to take advantage of that by dragging him through the mud, sounding the whole while like he’s talking about somebody else. “Doubtful.”

“Yeah! I never really knew my mom.” He sniffs, and Madeline lets out a soft gasp, turning to glance back at him sympathetically. “But I’m sure she was really great. My dad told me all about her. And she was so nice, I bet she would’ve let me have all the automail I wanted. Because she loved me, and she wanted me to be happy.”

“Hmph.” Alright—two can play at this game. Roy pulls in, parking in front of the restaurant and slinging his arm over the back of his seat so he can look Luca in the eye. “I wasn’t going to tell you this, what with it being a fresh wound, but your father actually mentioned automail in his will.”

“Whuh?” That yanked the rug out from under his feet. Serves him right.

“Yep. He _specifically_ mentioned that his son should _not_ be given any automail modifications, under any circumstances.” Roy puts the car into park and places a hand over his heart dramatically. “And what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t put his wishes first?”

Luca stares at him, face red and furious. He keeps it up for a few moments, then deflates so he can slump dramatically against the door again. “Dad did _not_ say that.”

Roy steps out of the car, walking around to the passenger’s side and opening the door for Madeline. “Yeah, well, your _mom_ never said you could have automail, either, so we’re even.”

 

 *

 

“The plan _was_ to meet in front of General Hughes’ grave, wasn’t it?” Grumman chuckles, obviously enjoying the way his disguise is making Roy’s skin crawl. The purple dress, the perfectly straightened wig, and how long his face looks without his mustache—it’s all hysterical! Roy has to turn and clutch at his face, fighting not to burst into laughter. Seriously?! What the hell is wrong with this old geezer? “I thought the situation must be serious for you to resort to the last-ditch plan. So, just to be safe, I wore a disguise.”

“O-Of course!” Roy can’t keep his voice level anymore. Thank God nobody’s around to notice him laughing hysterically at a supposedly helpless old woman. “Now I see why you’re known for being eccentric! That really is some get-up, sir.”

“Why, thank you! But frankly, I think it would suit _you_ much better.” He says it so casually that, at first, Roy doesn’t catch the implication. But then it hits him, and his laughter stops immediately. There’s no way that Grumman knows, right? About Luca? About Roy’s _involvement?_ He’s just… trying to be funny. Throw a little teasing back at Roy.

Either way, Grumman doesn’t give him a chance to wonder about it for any longer. After setting the flowers on Hughes’ grave, he straightens up with a fierce, dead-serious expression. Just like that, Roy remembers what’s _really_ important.

 “Now. _What is it you need?”_

*

 

“This doesn’t make any sense.” There’s something to be said about codes that are _too_ difficult to crack. Maybe it’s just because Roy’s running on zero sleep, but he can’t, for the life of him, figure out what that last informant was trying to get through to him. He’s been holed up in his study, rearranging the letters, checking for various ciphers, trying different key words and leaving certain phrases unchanged—still nothing. His head’s throbbing like it’s been struck with a mallet, which certainly doesn’t help. If this wasn’t a life and death situation, he knows he could nod off for a while, and then everything just might fall into place. But frankly, time is a luxury he just can’t afford.

The door swings open and Roy spins around in alarm, slumping when he realizes it’s just Luca. He’s not… completely sure why he thought it’d be someone else, but honestly, being assassinated isn’t the most unrealistic concern he’s had as of late. It’s slightly less disturbing than his old reflexive response—that is, to assume the person who just slammed their way into his office without so much as a heads up is Hughes. “You should go to bed.”

“Whuh—?” Is he seriously ordering Roy around? “Who’s the parent here, huh? You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Okay, okay! It’s not an order. It’s a suggestion.” _Christ_. Not only does he sound exactly like an adult when he says that—everything, right down to his cadence, is Hughes through and through.

“You’re the one who needs sleep. You’re up way past your bedtime.” Roy’s been working on this for several hours at least, which means Luca should’ve been asleep a long time ago

“Mom, it’s _morning_.” Luca crosses his arms grumpily.

“What? Ugh.” Okay, Roy gets it. “Three in the morning isn’t technically morning, ki—“ Luca reaches over and yanks the curtains away from his window, and Roy squints as the painfully bright morning sun blasts right into his face. “… Oh.”

“Go to bed already! You can’t help anyone if you can’t even stay awake.” Mm. Never mind—Roy takes back what he said. Forget Hughes; right now, Luca’s channeling pure _Hawkeye._

“Soon as I get away from one nanny, another one steps up to take her place.” He’s been trying not to think of Hawkeye’s situation. God, he just hopes she’s been watching herself. Of course she has, and he knows that, but it doesn’t change the fact that she’s being held hostage by a bunch of inhuman affronts to nature. Sue him for being a little concerned.

Easing onto his feet, Roy shoves his chair in and stumbles over to the couch, collapsing on top of it. He closes his eyes, vowing to just rest them, and even then, only for a few minutes. But then he feels Luca throw a blanket over him, tucking him in like he’s a baby, and he busts up laughing.

“I’m gonna make some toast.” Luca says it all sternly, like it’s a punishment for Roy’s reckless behavior.

“Thanks, warden.” Roy nods with one last snicker. He does start wondering when Luca got this… independent. By no means does Roy think it’s a bad thing, but he’s not sure it reflects on _him_ all that well.

Shit. He can compare the kid to Maes and Hawkeye all he wants, but the truth of the matter is, he’s turning out more and more like Roy every day.

Poor little bastard.

And that’s more or less his last thought before he passes the hell out.

 

*

 

It’s the last thing he expects to hear in the middle of the catacombs, crawling through the mucky underbelly of the city.

The sound of Lieutenant Hawkeye _chuckling_.

It’s so out of place, and so foreign, for a split second, he thinks it’s a dead giveaway. It’s not the Lieutenant—it’s Envy _,_ masquerading as her, finally having caught him off guard. But he just watched the damn worm dissolve into nothingness, so he knows it’s the genuine article walking beside him, trailing behind the others so they can talk in peace. “What’s so damn funny?”

“It’s just…” He turns and looks at her, and she shakes her head. “You hesitated.”

“What?”

“When Envy turned into Luca. Just for a split second.”

Roy bristles. “If you’re suggesting I would’ve gotten us all killed over a trick, Hawkeye—“

“No! No.” She’s quiet for a bit, probably figuring out how she wants to word this. Even now, she’s the type to get uncomfortable if she can’t articulate herself perfectly. “It’s nice, that’s all.”

“Nice?” Roy scoffs. “That’s not the word I would’ve used.” Stupid. Foolhardy. _Weak._ Roy knows she’s right, even though it kills him to admit it—he _did_ hestitate, and he very nearly got everyone here, trudging alongside them into the lion’s den, slaughtered.

“You know what I mean.” She moves her arm, almost like she wants to touch his shoulder or something, but there’s only a twitch of movement and then she goes still. “I think he’d be flattered.”

“By what? You think I should tell my son that I _almost_ wasn’t able to incinerate a perfect clone of him?” Roy laughs humorlessly. “Yeah, he’ll love that.”

She smirks. “Coming from you, that’s a high compliment.”

“… That’s cold, Lieutenant.” But playfully so. It feels normal, this little dialogue with her. More and more like he’s waking up, clawing his way out from the sea of pure, undiluted rage that was just threatening to pull him under for good.

When this is all over, he’ll have to thank her.

 

*

 

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Roy gawks at his men, genuinely caught off guard. For the first time in a long time, he’s too flabbergasted to save face in front of them. “All of you? _All of you_ knew?” When his whole crew came to visit him in the hospital, he was expecting to brief them on his plans, maybe nip some of that ‘you’re blind’ pity in the bud—this conversation’s coming completely out of left field.

“Well, not at first,” admits Falman.

“But we definitely figured there was something between you and the Lieutenant Colonel,” Breda adds. “And then that kid came along—and _come on!_ He’s basically a clone of Hughes, but with your personality.”

“Plus you took your leave of absence right before Luca was born.” Fuery pipes up from beside him, sounding sheepish as he rustles through some papers. “And you never change clothes at work—or, if you do, it’s only where nobody can see you.”

“That’s still a whole lot of detective work to do for no reason,” Roy grouses. He can’t be that interesting, can he? His ‘mysterious past’ wouldn’t hold a candle to those of some people working in this same city. Do any of them even know where Falman is from? Now _that’s_ a crazy backstory. “What made you decide to start digging in the first place?”

“Havoc.” They all answer in unison.

“What?” Havoc? What does he have to do with this? He’s too busy chasing skirts to uncover years-old government conspiracies. That’s why Roy keeps him around—a guy that shallow has an undeniably _honest_ demeanor. “What did he tell you?”

“He, uhh…” Suddenly, Fuery can’t spit it out. Roy hears his seat creak as (he assumes) the kid starts squirming anxiously.

Breda clears his throat, sounding far too smug for Roy’s liking when he takes over for Fuery. “Havoc may or may not have come back to the building late one night and heard some… _incriminating_ sounds coming from your office.”

Roy’s eyes bug out of their sockets.

He remembers that night. It happened once— _only_ once, but apparently, that was all it took to screw him over. Roy hadn’t wanted to do it. Of course he hadn’t! Even then, there was way too much at stake. But Hughes kept pushing it, chasing him around like a needy puppy—“Aw, come on Roy! Just give it a shot” and “The whole building’s empty. What could happen?”—and Roy gave in just to shut him up.

Realizing he’s been totally silent while thinking back to that night, Roy coughs into his hand uncomfortably. “Hm.”

“I hope you’re not mad, sir,” says Fuery timorously.

“Oh, I’m mad.” Admittedly, though, not at them. “Hughes is lucky he’s dead, because if he weren’t, I’d have to go kill him.”

 

*

 

Later that day, he hears the door open. He doesn’t pay it any mind—Breda’s in the middle of quizzing him about Ishvalan farming tactics—but then he notices the pitter patter of small feet, and a second later, he opens his arms. “Lu—!”

A tiny fist, packing more power than it has any right to, collides with the back of his head.

“ _Son of a—!”_ What the hell’s gotten into him!? “What was _that_ for?”

“You’re BLIND?” Luca shouts right in his ear, then hits Roy with another flurry of punches. “You—were—supposed—to—take—better—care—of yourself!” He ends his assault by grabbing the collar of Roy’s hospital gown, tugging on it like a schoolyard bully. “How could you let this happen?”

Somebody starts laughing, and it isn’t anyone who was in the room a second ago. “Well, he sure grew up to be a spitfire.”

“Dr. Knox.” Roy would know his voice anywhere—he always sounds like he just finished gargling an entire pit of gravel. “How long have you been in here?”

“Long enough to drop off that little care package in your lap.” At least Luca’s punches are getting weaker. He slumps against Roy with a moody sigh, then buries his face in his chest.

“’M not a care package,” the kid grumbles, slightly muffled.

Roy hears the clop of someone’s shoes, and he feels Luca shift in his lap. “Take it easy on him, son.” Roy’s head jerks upwards, instinctively attempting to stare in shock at the owner of the voice. “This problem might not be as permanent as you think it is.”

Luca makes a moody sound and refuses to come out from hiding in Roy’s shirt. Roy smiles, putting his arms around the kid. Luca hasn’t acted this babyish since…. Well, since he was an actual baby. Maybe, just this once, Roy ought to indulge him. They’ve got a lot to celebrate, after all. And if Marcoh’s here to tell him what Roy thinks he’s going to, they’ll have even more of a reason.

They talk for hours. About Roy’s plans for Amestris, for Ishval—for everyone in this room. Luca’s a smart kid, but Roy knows he couldn’t possibly care about any of this. Still, he stays on Roy’s lap the entire time, not even getting up for a drink of water. After everyone’s left, Roy tilts his head, trying to figure out if Luca’s being so motionless because—

“He’s asleep, Colonel.”

“Ah.” Damn. Roy almost forgot she was in here, too. “… Thank you, Hawkeye.” Leaning back against the pillows, he closes his eyes, entertaining the thought of dozing off himself.

Hawkeye seems like she might follow suit, but then she pipes up. “Can I ask you something?”

Roy nods tiredly. “Shoot.”

“Are you… happy?”

Roy has no clue why, but the question knocks the wind out of him. “I…” Since when is Hawkeye concerned with other people’s happiness? Well—damn it, that’s not what he meant. She cares about people a _lot,_ and she’s a whole lot kinder than most people give her credit for. It’s just that she never _asks_ about it. “What are you trying to say, exactly?”

“I… suppose I’ve always wondered if it was worth the trouble.” Just when he’s about to tell her to stop beating around the bush, Hawkeye clarifies. “To have a child with Lieutenant Hughes, only to be left raising him alone.” She doesn’t say the part where Roy basically had the damn kid _for_ Hughes, but it’s more than implied, and they both know it. She’s asking if Roy’s happy raising a kid he butts heads with constantly. A kid who, if he’s being honest, gets in the way of Roy’s goals—takes time away from him, time that he _needs_ to focus on becoming Fuhrer—more than any  other thing in his life.

“That’s a hell of a thing to ask a person.”

“I know.” Roy doesn’t need to see in order to know she’s got that far-away, deep-thinking expression.

Falling back again, Roy squeezes the warm body on top of his. “Of course it was worth it.” He’s still not a fan of kids. Finds himself turning and walking in the other direction whenever there’s a screaming baby or whining toddler getting toted around. He guesses that Luca has just enough of Hughes’ blood in him to make him tolerable to Roy. Screw it—someone he can actually _love._ And God knows what Roy did to make Luca like him back _at all_ , but he must have done something right. Reminds him of how he and Maes became friends in the first place. Didn’t have a damn thing in common, but they still couldn’t stand being apart.

In a way, it’s like Roy didn’t have to lose him. Not all of him, at least. “Maybe you’ll understand when you have kids.”

Hawkeye makes a dubious noise. “I don’t know about that.” She shifts in her bed, probably turning so her back’s to Roy. “I’m not really the mothering type. You, on the other hand…”

“Oh, _ha ha ha.”_ Roy rolls his eyes, dropping his head so his chin’s tucked just over Luca’s hair. He smells like some warm, indescribable thing—a familiar old blanket, a favorite comfort food—and when he shifts and lets out the softest, smallest sigh, Roy’s heart twists in such a painful way, he couldn’t even dream of putting a name to what he’s feeling.

Damn it, Hawkeye.

Hell will have to freeze over before he admits it, but she might be more right than she realizes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Doodled a family portrait rly quick for the last chapter! ](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/D9o1jtoXsAAkcf3.jpg:large) Hope you guys enjoyed it.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I realize "hermaphrodite" is really not a politically correct term but it felt more natural for a 1900s fantasy society based on alchemy so uhh yeah. Apologies.


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